


tallboy is [online]

by malapertqueen



Series: Tallboy Is Online [1]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Blowjobs, Feelings, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, camboy Ben, family homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malapertqueen/pseuds/malapertqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you have to get a little creative to pay the bills.</p><p>(or, the camboy!Ben AU that needed to happen)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Yale is everything and nothing like Ben expects.

The fact that he even gets into Yale at all is a miracle--he’s not a legacy admission, nor is he athletic in the slightest, and he’s whiter than the paint on the picket fence in his parents front yard. But for some reason Yale wants him, the middle-class son of a minister and a school teacher. 

Getting into Yale is a dream come true. Affording Yale, on the other hand, is a nightmare.

His parents might be comfortable but they're not rich by any means and Yale tuition is definitely out of their reach. The idea of spending the next thirty years of his life paying back his student loans is nauseating, and there's no way in hell he can get a campus job that will pay enough to make a dent in the sixty thousand dollar tuition bill. 

Ben works his ass off over the summer and manages to write his way into a few scholarships; it’s enough to get him through half of his tuition for the year, but he’s still got the rest of the year to pay for, plus books and living expenses. 

His money problems become even more of a factor once he moves into the dorms. It doesn’t help that his first introduction to the two guys living next door to him is listening to one of them talk about his summer in the Mediterranean, and how disappointing it was that the yacht was smaller than last year. Mercifully, Ben has a single and only has to interact with them if there’s a line for their shared bathroom, so he doesn’t have to pretend that he knows what it’s like to have a summer home in Italy or whatever it is that rich people do with their money.

And the more time he spends around his other classmates, the more Ben starts to realize that he doesn’t exactly fit in with the prep school crowd; his clothes are from Target, his smartphone is whatever he got for free with his cell plan, and the most traveling he’s done has been driving through most of the Northeast on his way to church youth group retreats in high school. In short, he’s got nothing in common with most of the people he’s surrounded by all day. It’s incredibly isolating.

Ben makes it through the first few weeks of classes by just keeping his head down and trying not to draw attention to himself. His parents call a few times to check on him and he fakes his way through the painfully awkward conversations (“everything's fine, I’m making friends, yes I’m eating something besides pizza”). The first time Caleb calls him, he’s a little less guarded.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he confides to his childhood best friend, leaning against the plain wooden headboard of his standard issue dorm bed. “I heard some kid yesterday talking about spending ten grand on a suite at the Beyonce concert. I can’t even afford to buy her album on iTunes.”

“You listen to Beyonce?” Caleb asks, his voice tinny through the speaker of Ben’s ancient phone.

Ben groans, his head falling back to hit against the headboard with a loud ‘thump’. “That’s not the point, Caleb! I shouldn’t be here.”

Caleb scoffs. “You deserve to be there more than any of the guys who got in just because six generations of their family have puked in a Yale toilet after shotgunning too many beers.” 

“That’s a charming image,” Ben says dryly, but he can’t help but smile. Caleb’s always been good at pulling him out of a funk ever since they were kids, but tonight even Caleb's brand of humor can't quite flush away all the anxiety still lingering at the edges of his thoughts. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m not even sure I can pay next semester’s tuition.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Caleb's confidence in him is nice, but not exactly helpful. Ben opens his mouth to tell him so, but Caleb continues before he can speak. “Hell, if nothing else you could always do porn?”

Even though he’s alone in his dorm room, Ben feels his face turn bright red and he glances around, then hisses into the phone “I am not doing porn!” 

“Hey, don’t knock it til you’ve tried it!” Before Ben can protest, Caleb laughs and says goodbye, hanging up and leaving Ben sputtering.

The idea of doing any sort of porn is outrageous and laughable, but for some reason it sticks in his mind for days afterward anyway. Maybe not actual sex-with-a-partner porn, because who would want to watch someone fuck a skinny, awkward nerd like him? But that’s not the only way to make cash with his body. And it’s not like he has any better ideas at this point.

Ben goes back and forth, warring with himself over the sheer stupidity of the idea before he finally looks up a few webcam sites--some are obviously just fronts for expensive porn subscriptions, but he stumbles across one that's actually seems less horrifying than he imagined. It has the ability to block certain states from being able to see a stream, which is a plus in Ben’s book: the last thing he needs is someone he knows finding him on a porn site. 

A little judicious Google searching leads him to a support forum for cam models; it’s mostly geared at women, but there's a whole subforum just for male models and Ben spends an entire Tuesday night reading every thread he can find, to the point where he finds himself taking notes like this is some sort of class he's studying for and not him contemplating the idea of his own foray into amateur porn. 

Getting started is deceptively easy--the hardest part turns out to be picking a username. Finally, after way too much time spent waffling over the decision, he settles on ‘Tallboy’ and signs up for an account. It’s a stupid name, but he refuses on principle to use anything that sounds too crass or blatantly pornographic. He’s already got a webcam on his laptop, and his suitemates are usually too busy out partying with their fellow rich kids to give a crap about Ben, so the only thing stopping him is his own (completely reasonable) hangups about people watching him get naked for money. 

For some reason though, the longer he thinks about it, the less troubled he is by the thought of strangers jerking off to him--it’s not that much different from being a stripper, and he’s heard plenty of third-hand stories about girls stripping to put themselves through law school. If they can do it, why can’t he?

But it’s the email from the bursar’s office, reminding him that his first spring tuition payment is due in two weeks, that is the final boost of encouragement he needs. If it goes badly or he hates it, he can always try something else. But if he doesn’t at least try, he’s going to regret it. Especially if it means leaving Yale and give up on the one thing he’s always wanted.

Tomorrow, he decides. He’ll do his first show tomorrow.

-

Ben is so nervous that he almost doesn’t go through with it. Eventually, he makes a bargain with himself that he doesn’t have to get naked this first time; this is just a test run, a chance for him to figure out how things work so when he does it for real, he doesn’t look like a total loser. 

He starts out fully dressed--just a soft, plain t-shirt and cargo shorts, nothing he wouldn’t normally wear. His hand shakes as he adjusts the camera, watching himself in the little video window on the screen until his upper body and face are in focus.

Pushing back the urge to just delete his account and pretend he never even considered this path, Ben clicks the little button on his screen to go live, and waits. 

It's late afternoon, so he knows it'll be slow, but he feels awkward just sitting around doing nothing. He's got some music playing in the background so it's not totally silent, but he's still just sitting there, trying to ignore the churning nausea in his gut as his brain comes up with horrible scenarios for him to fret over.

A few users pop in and out of his chatroom so quickly he doesn't even have time to react, but eventually someone sticks around long enough to post “hey sexy” in the chat. It’s pretty cliche, but it’s the first interaction he’s had and Ben jumps on it.

“Hi there,” he says a little awkwardly, smiling at the camera and giving a little wave.

Another user pops in and drops a “show us ur dick :)” and Ben feels his cheeks heat up. It's not like he didn't know that sort of thing was coming, but having it actually directed at him is an entirely different experience. 

“It's my first night,” he says, surprising himself by how flirty his voice sounds despite the way his stomach is twisting with nerves. “Maybe we'll start of slowly, let you all get to know me first.”

To his surprise, someone actually tips him for that and he feels a thrill race down his spine, eating away at the edge of the nausea. It’s only two dollars, but it's a start. “Thank you,” Ben says, peering at the username on the screen “...MrUncut58.”

His first tipper leaves a smiley face in the chat and just like that, something clicks in Ben’s brain and he finds himself settling into the role he's created for himself. He spends the next two hours casually chatting with the people who pop in and out of his chat, careful not to reveal anything that might lead back to his real identity. A few people leave small tips, especially when he reminds them all that he's still very new to this--it’s not much, but it gives Ben the confidence to continue.

Eventually someone tips him enough that he feels obligated to do something more than answer questions, and he rolls his chair back, giving the camera a good view as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. It's warm in his dorm room anyway, and it's not like he hadn't been shirtless in public before. This is just a little more public than he’s used to, that’s all.

There’s a slew of appreciative (and dirty) comments from the chat in response, and he laughs as he settles back into Q & A mode. The lack of shirt definitely brings more people into his chat but, unsurprisingly it also brings in some assholes and he has to use the ban function a few times to keep them from getting out of hand. 

Ben only anticipated being online for an hour max, but by the end of hour two he's finally relaxed enough to be enjoying himself just a bit, so when someone tips him a more substantial amount and asks him to pinch his nipples, Ben doesn’t have to think too hard about obliging.

His eyes drift shut as he rolls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, a little gasp escaping his lips before he can swallow it back. He's always had sensitive nipples, but there’s an extra thrill knowing that dozens of strangers are watching him that heightens the sensation even more. 

He hears the soft chime noise that indicates another tip has come in, followed in rapid succession by a few more. Surprised, he opens his eyes again and looks at the list of tips on the screen. If just that little bit of touching got that much reaction...

“Wow, you guys really liked that huh?” He smiles at the camera, feeling a little giddy until he looks at the clock on his desk. It's well past time for him to sign off: he's supposed to meet up with his group for his intro to psych class for a study session in ten minutes on the other side of campus. “I did too. But that's all for tonight. I'll be back tomorrow though.”

Ignoring the protests from the couple dozen users in the chat, Ben says his goodbyes into the camera and turns it off, then checks his tip total again. Almost thirty dollars for two hours of just sitting around talking with his shirt off. Not bad for his first attempt. 

He's semi-hard just from that little bit of playing but he's already going to be late for the study group, so he ignores his boner for now and puts his shirt back on. If he’s doing this cam thing to pay for college, he should probably actually study once and a while and not just jerk off all day.

\--

Ben does two more shows before the weekend, each one about two hours long. To his surprise, he starts to recognize some of the usernames in the chat, the same people coming back to see him again and again. It’s oddly gratifying.

By the second show, he’s finally worked himself up to getting fully naked on camera, slowly jerking himself off between chatting with his viewers. He’s has been lazily edging himself for almost a half hour when a notification pops up on his screen, indicating that someone wants a private show. 

The cam model forum he lurks on is full of stories about weird requests and creepy people asking for private shows, but as Ben skims the listed request, he’s pleasantly surprised.

 _[Work yourself up however you'd like, I just want to watch you come.]_

It’s from someone new that he hasn't seen speak up in the chat yet, but it doesn't come with a request for a cam-to-cam which is something he’s still not wild about the idea of doing. Combined with the amount of money being offered (more than double what he’s made total so far), Ben doesn’t really have a good reason to turn it down. 

He waves to the camera and tells the main chat he'll be back before taking a deep breath and flipping over to the private stream.

“Hi there,” Ben says, smiling shyly at the camera as he sits back in his desk chair, giving the camera a good view of his cock. It's gone a little soft as he's been distracted, but it won't take much to work himself back up again. He’s already getting a little excited just from the novelty of performing for someone one-on-one. “And thanks. You're my first private show, so I hope this is okay.”

He wraps his hand around his cock, giving it a few slow strokes to bring it back to full hardness as he lets his eyes drift shut for a moment. He's still very aware of the camera and that there's someone watching him, but it’s different performing for one stranger instead of hundreds. And it is a performance, no matter how much he finds himself actually getting into the exhibition aspect of being on camera. 

It’s his first show and the guy (he assumes it’s a guy) dropped almost a hundred bucks to watch him jerk off, so Ben decides to give him his money’s worth; normally he’s pretty quiet when he does this on his own, mostly out of habit, but the privacy of his dorm room gives Ben some leeway to let himself get a little more vocal. He moans softly when he brushes his thumb across the head of his dick, swiping through the slick pre-cum that’s gathered; on a whim, he lifts his thumb to his open mouth and drags it across his tongue.

The ping of a message alert catches his attention and he glances back at the screen. The private show has it’s own chat, and there’s a message there for him from the guy who’s watching.

_[You’re beautiful. Keep going, don’t be shy.]_

Some day, he’ll stop blushing when somebody compliments him, but today isn’t that day. Ben flashes another shy smile at the camera and wraps his fingers around his cock again, spreading his legs wider in the chair as he starts to stroke himself again. He catches a glimpse of himself in the video window on the screen and it feels like he’s looking at someone else; his eyes are half closed, mouth half-open, his hips thrusting upward as he fucks his own fist. 

He doesn’t know why, but he’s getting even more turned on watching himself on the screen. And he’s definitely not the only one enjoying it--his audience of one leaves him message after message in the chat box.

_[That’s right, touch yourself]_

_[Don’t stop, let me hear you]_

_[Come for me, beautiful boy.]_

The last message is what tips him over the edge; choking on a moan, Ben’s eyes slam shut as he comes hard and messy, painting streaks across his stomach and chest. It takes him a minute or so to settle, shaking a little from the surprising intensity of his orgasm, but he finally comes down enough to crack one eye open when he hears the notification sound from the chat again.

_[That was stunning. Thank you.]_

“No, thank you,” Ben says, a little breathless. And he really is honestly grateful; he had expected much more vulgarity or uncomfortable requests, so to have someone who seemed perfectly content to just watch Ben and encourage him to get off is a relief. “That was a really nice way to end my night.”

_[Well, then I’m glad I could help. Enjoy the rest of you evening, tallboy.]_

“You too.” Ben makes a mental note of the guy’s screenname, Virginia2202, and hopes (pathetically) that he comes back to Ben’s room again. If he can get one or two decent guys to be kind to him in a sea full of freeloaders and creeps, it’ll go a long way towards making this whole cam model thing worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

Juggling a dual life turns out to be much easier than Ben expects.

During the day he focuses on classes and homework, getting up early and working through his class breaks to keep himself on-track. His first semester is mostly general education classes, none of which are terribly difficult, but he’s got enough reading and essay writing to keep him busy straight through until the times he’s set aside for his other, more economically satisfying pursuits.

It doesn’t hurt that he doesn’t really have any friends to spend time with; or, really, the money to do anything but stay in his dorm room. The other guys he shares his dorm suite with aren’t so bad once he gets to know them a little better just from passing conversation, but they’re still very much a part of the rich legacy kid crowd and he doesn’t really want to go out and party with their friends. 

There’s a guy in his freshman history seminar who usually sits a few seats down from Ben--he hasn’t caught his name yet, but they occasionally share a smile or an eyeroll when someone brings up a particularly asinine point during class. And Caleb and Abe still text him pretty much every day, even though Abe is drowning in his own classes at Columbia and Caleb is working overtime for his dad’s construction business. He even gets the occasional email from Anna, when she remembers he exists. 

Strangely, his life as a cam model has become easily one of the least stressful parts of his day. He has a regular schedule of times he’s online for shows, which he keeps to pretty diligently minus any class-related disruptions, and he’s slowly gathering a pretty loyal fanbase, including a couple of other, more experienced cam models who have helped him out with some of the more behind-the-scenes things like figuring out taxes and setting up cam-related social media accounts.

He’s also taken to watching a great deal of porn--not to use while he’s jerking off, but to study for material for his shows. He’s all too aware of his own physical limitations--he’s not muscular, but he’s not out of shape either, and he’s sort of average height. He’s just...all around average, which makes him a little insecure when he sees the muscular builds of some of the other guys on the cam site. Compared to some of them he’s almost delicately small. But for whatever reason people seem to be flocking to his shows anyway, so he's not going to question it too much.

After a relatively success first few weeks, Ben does a little research and spends some of his hard-earned cash on some additions to his setup. The model forums have been a wealth of information and recommendations, so he sets himself up with a better webcam, a few lamps to better light his room, a much-larger-than-expected bottle of lube, and a brand-new dildo. More than a few people have asked if he’d consider using one on cam and the more Ben considers it, the more the idea appeals to him. Plus, according to the model forum, he’s likely to make more money if he does more than just jerk off.

It’s the first actual sex toy he’s ever owned (the knockoff Fleshlight Caleb bought him as an 18th birthday gift absolutely does not count) which is a little surreal in and of itself; the dildo is roughly the same size as his own dick, so it doesn’t seem quite so daunting, but it’ll be the first time something besides his own fingers will be in his ass. 

Deciding to get the most out of the purchase, he waits until his scheduled Friday night show to debut his new toy on cam. His suitemates are out at a house party (Ben graciously declined their halfhearted invitation), so there’s no one to overhear him tonight. He even spends a little extra time in the shower, very aware of not only his new high-definition webcam but also the fact that his ass is going to be the star of the show tonight. 

He doesn’t fully dress after the shower, just slips on a pair of plaid boxers before he sets up his new lighting and fusses with the camera. He’s got it focused on his bed for tonight, pulled in close enough that the rest of his room is in shadow. He even put fresh sheets on his bed, a navy blue set he picked out at Target because of an off-hand comment Anna had made once in high school about blue being a color that made his eyes “pop”. At this point, he'll do just about anything to make himself look better on camera if it means making a few extra dollars. 

He stashes the dildo and the lube on the bedside table just out of view and takes one last look around at his ‘stage’ for the evening. Unfortunately, with the limitations of his room and his funds, it’s the best he’s going to get. He's not a professional--he's just a skinny, awkward kid in his dorm room, trying to make some cash. Taking a deep breath, Ben logs into the site, flips his status to ‘online’ and sits down on the bed, tweeting out a link to his stream and watching as the number of viewers steadily creeps upward. 

Making people wait is a surefire way to get them to leave, so Ben puts his phone away and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Happy Friday everyone,” he says, smiling into the camera as he leans back, showing off just a little. “I thought we might have some fun tonight--some of you have been asking for something in particular, and I decided that I wanted to reward you all for being such loyal fans.”

He scans the list of usernames in the chat, nothing with a secret thrill that Virginia2202 is in the room. He’s remained one of Ben’s top customers since that first private show and it’s always a good night for Ben, both financially and personally, whenever he stops in. Plus, he's got a habit of stepping in when people get too demanding or nasty, which Ben finds oddly charming. 

Refocusing his attention on the camera, he gives his viewers a conspiratorial grin. “So! The game tonight is this--I’ve set a few goals for tonight,” Ben lifts up the little whiteboard he bought for just this purpose, showing off a numbered list of amounts he’s written down. “Each one of these goals is for something I haven’t done before on the stream, and the last is for something truly special.”

He leans over, stretching just out of view of the camera to grab the dildo, and brings it back with him, wiggling it a little in front of the lens. “I just got this in the mail and haven’t used it on myself at all yet. When we hit the first goal, I’ll use my mouth and we’ll see if my blowjob skills have gotten rusty.” 

There’s a flurry of activity in the chat--mostly encouragement and excitement, and then the tips start pouring in. Ben doesn’t even have time to say anything else to encourage them before the first of his goals is reached for the night. _Holy shit_ , he thinks, a little stunned. He just made fifty dollars and he’s only been online for three minutes.

“Wow, you guys really want to watch me suck this thing, huh?” Ben laughs, eyeing the dildo in his hand again before he leans forward and flicks his tongue against the head. Just a little tease, enough to get the chat riled up again. His viewer count is almost double what it’s been the last few times he’s been on, and along with the continued influx of tips that would be all the reason he needs to keep going, but he's actually a little excited to try this now. 

Humming, he makes eye contact with the camera as he slips the head of the dildo into his mouth, making a show of sucking on it for a moment before he pulls off with a loud pop. It’s definitely not the same as a real blowjob (something he’s only done twice in his entire life, both rather badly, but his fans don’t need to know that), but it’s enough of an approximation that he can use the info gleaned from his increased porn viewing habits to make up for his limited personal experience.

Ben does his best to make a good show of the faux blowjob; he can’t deep-throat the dildo like some of the people in the chat are asking for, but he does get down nearly halfway, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing his head as he sucks on the silicone. At one point, he glances up at the screen and moans, surprised by how obscene (and hot) his mouth looks stretched around the fake cock. No wonder the chat is going crazy right now.

Finally, after a few minutes of practicing his mediocre blowjob skills, Ben pulls off entirely and grins at the camera. “What do you guys think? Do my blowjob skills look okay to you, or do I need a little more practice?”

The chat quickly fills with more messages of praise from his viewers and Ben winks, giving the head of the dildo another quick lick before setting it aside. “Well, since that went over so well how about we move on to the next goal?” Leaning back, he snags the lube from the bedside table and sets it down on the bed before he scoots back against the headboard and spreads his legs. 

“This is to fulfill yet another frequent request from you guys, and this covers the next three goals--each goal means one finger, up to three.” He wiggles the fingers on one hand at the camera for emphasis. “The faster you tip, the faster I go.”

His tippers hit the first goal before he’s barely finished getting his boxers off. “God, you guys are demanding tonight,” he laughs, reaching for the lube and pouring a generous amount onto his fingers. “Guess I know what you’ve been waiting for.”

Ben has done this before on his own enough that it’s easy for him to get into a comfortable position, propped up against the pillows so the camera can still catch his face. Still keeping half his attention on the chat so he can make sure he doesn’t miss the next goal, he doesn’t tease himself too much, just enough to make it worth watching before he presses the tip of his index finger inside, inhaling sharply through his teeth at the familiar stretch.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groans, rocking his hips a little. He wants more already, impatient and turned on from the faux-blowjob, but he hasn’t quite hit the second goal yet so he bats his eyelashes at the camera and spreads his legs a little further. “C’mon guys, make me take more. Unless you think I can’t?”

That seems to be all the encouragement the chat needs--goals two and three hit in rapid succession and Ben flashes the camera a wide grin. “I thought so. Bet you all wish these were your fingers and not mine.”

He doesn’t even need to look at the chat to know the responses he’s getting from that--it’s entirely predictable, but the positive reaction is nice anyway. He adds a bit more lube to his fingers, spreading it around a little before pressing in the second finger with an audible moan. He’s never gone past two when he’s just jerking off on his own, so the thought of adding a third while on camera is somewhat daunting.

“Alright, let’s see if I can take three,” he says, his breath hitching as he presses the tip of the third finger against the rim. “Oh fuck, _fuck_.” It’s almost too much, even with his fingers soaked with lube, but he keeps going, working them in slowly until all three of his fingers in and buried up to the knuckle.

If it feels this good with just his thin fingers, then Ben is pretty sure the dildo is going to blow his mind once he gets to that point of the evening. “Fuck, I’m so _tight_ ,” he moans, mostly for the benefit of his audience but it’s got the benefit of also being true. His ass is clenched so hard around his fingers he can almost feel the bones grinding together, but it’s _amazing_ and he doesn’t want to stop. His dick is straining against his stomach, achingly hard, but he’s still got a long way to go before he can come tonight.

As content as he would be to just keep fucking himself on his fingers, Ben also knows he’s got a tuition payment to make soon. He’s calculated the goals for the night based on that number, which means he can’t stop now, no matter how badly he already wants to come.

The mental reminder about his tuition gives Ben a flash of an idea, one he decides to act on before he can re-think it. He scans the list of chat users again--they’re sorted by tipping amount, and unsurprisingly Virginia2202 is at the top. Good.

Reluctantly, Ben pulls his fingers out and wipes them discreetly on the sheets--fuck it, tomorrow is Saturday, he’ll do laundry in the morning. “Since you all have been so generous tonight,” he says, still a little breathless. “I’m going to do something extra special. You all know the final goal amount and you can probably guess what it’s for. But if someone tips me _double_ that amount, I’ll take them on private and let them see me fuck myself with a dildo for the very first time, just for them.”

It’s definitely a gamble, and Ben holds his breath for a moment, secretly hoping that it’s Virginia2202 and not someone else that gets that particular honor. He really shouldn’t be so attached to one particular anonymous screen name, but the guy has always been respectful to Ben and generous with his tips and Ben can’t think of anyone else he’d rather let watch him fuck himself for the first time. Better him than some random dude who might want to cam with him or get nasty.

And he’s not disappointed--the rest of the chat is tipping like crazy, but he sees the tip amount from Virginia2202 and it’s more than double than the extra amount he’d asked for, which makes Ben’s jaw drop a little. Three hundred dollars, just for the privilege of being the first to watch Ben fuck himself with his new toy.

“Well, sorry guys but Virginia2202 gets the honor of watching me for the first time.” Ben shrugs, trying not to smile at the disappointed messages that fill the chat. “Don’t worry though, I can already tell you my new best friend is going to make frequent appearances.” He winks at the camera again and leans forward, toggling his setting to a private show and inviting Virginia2202 to join him.

When the little chat box indicates Virginia2202 has accepted, Ben leans forward to adjust the webcam, pulling it a little closer so his favorite patron has an even better view of where Ben will be on the bed. “I really was telling the truth--I’ve never done this before,” he admits to the camera, a little bashful. He picks up the dildo again and bites his lower lip, considering his options for a moment before the soft ‘ding’ of the chat catches his attention again.

_[Just go as slow as you need to. Don’t rush it on my account, just enjoy yourself.]_

Ben lets out a quiet huff of laughter. “Pretty sure I won’t be the only one enjoying it,” he teases, grinning at the camera before he leans back against the pile of pillows again. 

He knows exactly what Virginia2202 is doing, wherever he is, and somehow that makes it even hotter for Ben. It’s the complete opposite of how he thought he’d feel about knowing some anonymous stranger was jerking off while watching him--it should make him feel dirty, or creeped out, but there’s a small part of him that wishes Virginia2202 would do a cam-to-cam, just so he has a face to put with the guy who’s been paying him to get off. 

Pouring more lube on his fingers, he spreads his legs wider so the camera has a good view of his ass as he presses two fingers inside himself again. As worked up as he is, two fingers is more than enough to get Ben gasping as he works them in and out, spreading them wider to stretch himself for what’s coming next. At this point, with or without the camera, he’s eager to try the dildo and it doesn’t take him long to give up on his fingers and reach for the toy, slicking it with more lube.

Virginia2202 hasn’t said anything else, so Ben hopes he’s still watching as he positions the head of the toy against his hole, teeth digging into his lower lip as he slowly pushes it past the rim. He keeps eye contact with the camera as he keeps pushing the toy in, moaning a little as his body stretches to accommodate the toy. It’s almost too much, even as slow as he’s going, but fuck it, he’s determined not to stop now.

_[Look at you, so gorgeous taking that whole thing.]_

His whole body trembles as he works the length of the dildo in and out, gasping every time the head hits against his prostate. He can barely focus on the chat screen through the tears that have gathered at the edge of his lashes, but he can hear the message sound every time Virginia2202 leaves him more encouraging praise.

_[You take that cock so nicely, you’re a natural at this.]_

Hiis wrist begins to ache, but he feels so full and it’s so good, better than he could have ever anticipated, and the stream of praise from Virginia2202 only makes it better. 

_[You look so good like this. I bet you’d look even better riding a real cock.]_

That shouldn’t turn Ben on even more, but it does anyway and he whines, fucking himself as fast as he can manage despite the way his arm muscles are starting to burn from the strain. “Oh my god, I can’t--I need to come. Please?” He doesn’t even know why he’s asking, but he needs the permission like he needs oxygen, gasping for both like a drowning man.

_[Good boy. Come for me.]_

That’s more than enough permission for Ben; he clenches his ass around the toy and wraps his fist around his dick, gasping sharply as he starts to jerk himself off. He should slow down again, try to make this last, make it good for the camera but his whole body is shaking with need and he can’t hold back any longer. Ben closes his eyes and comes with a high-pitched sob, his back arching off the bed as he spills into his fist. 

He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he comes back down enough to be aware of his body again; he can feel the tear tracks on his cheeks. Wincing a little at how sensitive he feels, Ben eases the dildo out of his ass before he sits up and looks at the laptop screen again to see a new message from Virginia2202.

_[Are you okay?]_

“Yeah,” Ben says with a shaky laugh, still trying to catch his breath. “Just...that was really intense. But really, really good.” 

_[It looked good from here too. ;) ]_

Ben can’t help but laugh again; the little winking face is ridiculous, but it feels strangely nice to know that his favorite customer is a little bit cheesy. It makes him seem more human somehow, rather than just a faceless name behind a screen. “Good, I’m glad. I hope it was worth it?”

_[Trust me, it was.]_

For some reason, that makes Ben blush--it’s such an innocuous comment, hardly anything dirty, but it hits some part of him that makes him want _more_. It’s a little shocking to him to realize that, aside from making sure his customer is getting his money’s worth, he does actually want to put on a good show for Virginia2202. Ben wants this stranger to _like_ him, and it sets off warning bells in the back of his mind. He can’t let himself get attached to someone he’s never even seen, and especially not someone who is giving him money in exchange for watching him fuck himself on camera. It's pathetic, and he's not that desperate for affection to seek it out from a total stranger who has to pay for sex.

Pushing all of that aside, Ben manages a smile again and leans forward. “Wish I could chat a little longer, but I’ve got to get going. I hope you have a good night.”

_[You as well. Sweet dreams.]_

Ben feels that blush creeping up his cheeks again and quickly logs off before he can say anything stupid. _Get a grip,_ he tells himself firmly. _You’re doing porn for strangers. This isn’t a relationship, it’s a business transaction._

If Ben dreams that night about strong hands and warm skin and lips against his, he doesn’t remember it in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this somehow developed feelings without my consent. mind the updated tags.

_The feast set before him is almost too much; the lean, lithe body spread out on the bed in the dim light, all his for the taking. He can’t help himself, has to lean down and taste every inch of that smooth skin, mouthing kisses against the curve of a neck, the scattering of freckles across a shoulder._

_The young man under him whimpers beautifully and writhes when George nips at his collar bone. “More, please,” he gasps, and how can George possibly deny him?_

_He lets his mouth dip lower, scattering kisses across the bare chest as he makes his way further down--_

The sharp blare of the alarm clock jolts George out of his dream, dragging him unwillingly back to reality. With a groan, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, silencing the alarm before he rolls over onto his back, wincing at the audible crack of his vertebrae. Goddamn, he’s getting old.

But he’s not so old that he isn’t left unaffected by the contents of his dreams; he’s painfully hard, the last wisps of the dream still clinging to the edges of his thoughts. Coupled with how he’d spent last night, it’s all too easy to take himself in hand and give his cock a few rough strokes, working himself towards a quick but vaguely unsatisfying orgasm. 

Grimacing at the sticky state of his boxers, George rolls out of bed and strips, tossing his clothes into the hamper before stepping into the bathroom to turn on the shower. He hasn’t jerked off this much since he was a teenager; it’s a wonder his dick hasn’t just given up in protest. 

One briskly efficient shower later, George is at least more awake but the pot of coffee waiting for him in the kitchen of his apartment is what finally makes him feel like a functional human being. He’s been staying up far too late to watch Tallboy’s shows and only the bitter infusion of straight black coffee can keep him from falling asleep during his lengthy research hours.

He really shouldn’t be cutting into his sleep just to watch a cam stream, but he can’t seem to stop himself; there’s something truly captivating, something that had drawn him in that first night and kept him coming back every time he got an email alert that tallboy was online.

Thankfully, whoever Tallboy actually is, he seems to keep to East coast hours; the streams normally wrap up by ten or eleven, which meant that George is only losing an hour of sleep at most. Still, it’s enough to throw him off in the mornings and requires a liberal dose of caffeine to keep him feeling at least marginally human.

He’s been stuck in Richmond for six months now while finishing up the research for his next book; it’s not a bad place, but New Haven has been his home now for nearly fifteen years and being away for so long is unsettling. The break from teaching has been nice, though he does miss Gilbert’s acerbic humor during midterm grading sessions, but he can only spend so many hours of his day pouring over confederate pension records before his eyes refuse to focus.

His biggest problem with Richmond is that he has very little to do that isn’t work-related. Reading, even for pleasure, has the same effect on his eyes as his research does, and he can only binge-watch so much television before his brain starts to leak out of his ears.

Perhaps he should have felt more guilty about turning to porn, but his last relationship had ended rather suddenly (and messily) right before he’d left for Virginia and the idea of trying to pick up anyone at a bar at his age just seemed sad and desperate. It certainly wasn’t the longest he’d been celibate, but somewhere during his Virginia research exile, regular porn had ceased to be enough to keep his attention long enough to get off.

That was how he’d ended up finding Tallboy; he’d been looking for something else to pique his interest (and his dick) and he’d never really looked too long or hard at camsites before. Most of the streams he’d clicked on had been terribly boring: overly muscular jock-types who didn’t talk or interact much with the viewers. If George had just wanted to watch someone methodically jerk off, he could certainly find any number of videos that would provide the exact same experience.

He’d very nearly given up on camsites all together when he’d stumbled across Tallboy’s page. What struck him immediately was that Tallboy was very engaged with his viewers, actively answering questions, smiling, even laughing when someone said something particularly funny. It seemed so much more _real_ than George had expected it to be, and he’d been immediately fascinated. And, judging by the ever-growing number of users viewing the stream, he hadn’t been the only one.

When he’d paid the money for a private show, he hadn’t really been thinking ahead; he’d spent so much time watching Tallboy edge himself, looking more and more desperate with every stroke, that he’d just wanted to give the poor boy an excuse to come. And George had come along with him, jerking off in time to Tallboy’s sweet gasps, pausing every so often to type encouragement into the chat until they’d both found their release.

And now...now George is glad that he’s never really indulged in much in the way of expensive habits before because he’s easily dropped a grand on tips and private shows in the last three weeks alone. It’s not as though he needs the money; his family’s investments are considerable, and his salary from the university more than covers his expenses. During one session, while answering questions, Tallboy had let slip that he was camming to pay for college so really, if he ever needs an actual excuse to justify his spending habits, George is simply doing a public service by helping a young man achieve his dreams of education.

Even in the privacy of his thoughts, he knows it’s a bullshit excuse. He simply enjoys watching a brilliant, beautiful young man jerk off for the pleasure of others. And if he’d gone a bit over the top the night Tallboy had offered up his first time with a dildo as a prize and dropped far more money than was actually required to ensure he’d be the only one to see it, well...

George isn’t proud of himself, but the idea of anyone else getting to watch Tallboy’s tear-streaked face as he fucked himself and begged to come sets a fire under something in the primal, possessive part of his brain. He knows better than to form that kind of attachment, no matter how genuinely sweet Tallboy seems to be. George is just one of his many admirers and if he were to stop watching altogether, someone would no doubt quickly replace him.

Sighing, George finishes off his first cup of coffee and rinses the mug in the sink. He’s spent enough time this morning thinking about Tallboy’s sweet, expressive face when he comes. After all, he’s already jerked off once this morning and he’s too old to get it up again that quickly, no matter how lovely the inspiration. Besides, he has actual work to get done today.

He can wait until tonight to think about all the ways he’d like to make that beautiful young man fall apart.

\---

“Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”

Ben glances up from reviewing the lecture notes on his laptop to see the guy who normally sits down the row from him standing next to Ben’s seat, clutching a battered leather messenger bag and smiling a little awkwardly. They’ve never spoken before, only exchanged glances and the occasional commiserating glance, but there must be some reason he’s coming over here now to talk to Ben. What is it?

When Ben doesn’t answer right way, the guy’s smile fades a bit and he shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable. “I mean, if you don’t want me to, that’s cool too.” His voice gets softer, almost too quiet for Ben to hear. “Just thought I’d ask?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine. You can sit here.” Ben shrugs, watching as the guy takes the seat next to him and pulls out his own laptop. It’s weird to have someone sitting so close to him, especially someone he doesn’t know, but it would have been rude to say no without a good reason. 

He gives Ben a warm, infectious grin and Ben, surprisingly, finds himself smiling in return. “I’m Nate, by the way--well, Nathan, but only my grandmother calls me that.” 

“Ben Tallmadge.” He resists the urge to hold out his hand to shake Nate’s, fighting the manners his mother had drilled into him for his entire life. He tries to think back to their previous class that week, then frowns. “I didn’t see you in class on Tuesday, did I?”

Nate nods, his face twisting into a grimace. “No, I was out sick. There’s something going around campus right now, my roommates all got it and passed it along. Lucky me.” He pauses, seeming to think, then his expression shifts into something anxious. “Did I miss anything important? We don’t have an exam or anything today, do we?”

“No, nothing like that. You didn’t miss much.” Ben shakes his head, already skimming over his notes from last class to refresh his memory so he can be sure he’s not misleading Nate about anything that had happened. God, the idea of something going around campus...the last thing he can afford to do is get sick and miss either class or one of his shows. He’ll have to remember to wash his hands a lot more often and avoid the common areas in the dorm. “I can email you my notes, if you want?”

That earns him another grin from Nate. It makes something in Ben’s stomach flip in a not-unpleasant way, surprising him into momentary silence as Nate speaks again. “That’d be great, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Ben swallows hard and forces himself to answer. “Not at all. What’s your email?”

Nate gives him his email address, and Ben sends his copy of his notes just as class begins, which ends their conversation for the moment. But all through class, despite the fact that he’s actually interested in their topic today, he finds himself distracted, sneaking glances at Nate out of the corner of his eye. 

It’s not like he hadn’t noticed before that Nate was physically attractive, in that purely analytical way that people judge one another in passing, but now he has other things to augment the knowledge, like knowing what Nate looks like when he smiles.

 _Get it together, Tallmadge. He’s probably straight,_ Ben thinks bitterly, forcing himself to focus on the lecture again. Besides, he doesn’t have time to date anyone right now, and even if he did, how would he explain what he does with his nights? And who would want to date a guy who does amateur porn? 

No, he can’t date right now, even if he got lucky and Nate was into guys. But, and it’s a huge but given how painfully awkward Ben is sometimes, it might be nice to have a friend? Ben can already see Nate fitting himself neatly into that slot in his life. Not to replace Caleb and the others, but an addition, one he wouldn’t mind at all. He is strangely lonely, even though his lack of social life is by his own design.

When class ends, Ben packs up his things efficiently, his mind already jumping ahead to what he has to do next--a few hours of homework, then he’s got a stream to prep for. He made his first tuition payment yesterday and it had been incredibly satisfying to know that he had managed to do it all on his own, without having to turn to his parents for the funds. He’d earned that money himself, and even if he couldn’t tell anyone else how, it didn’t matter. 

“Hey, do you have a class after this?” Nate’s voice breaks into his thoughts and Ben has to take a second to re-focus before he shakes his head.

“No, I was just going to go to the library and try and finish some reading for my English class tomorrow.” He glances up from packing his bag, curious. “Why?”

“Well…” Nate trails off, and Ben is surprised to see him look unsure again, clutching the strap of his messenger bag. He’s quickly starting to suspect that might be a tell for Nate, when he’s nervous. “I was thinking, if you didn’t mind a study partner, maybe we could grab coffee and study together?”

Ben’s mind floods with panic. _I can’t,_ he wants to say, _I’m not good at studying around other people, I like my privacy. I’m a disaster and you shouldn’t try to be friends with me._

But what he says, his voice a little strangled, is “Okay, sure, let’s do that,” and Nate’s smile returns as bright as a supernova. It hits Ben right in the chest, leaving him momentarily stunned again. _He really is handsome_ , his treacherous brain supplies, and he forces his attention back on his bag, packing the last of his things away.

“Awesome!” Nate’s enthusiasm for the idea is obvious. “Let’s go, I know where there’s a good spot with outlets that nobody usually has this time of day.”

Ben follows him without question, despite the way he’s starting to panic again at the thought of being alone with someone in a social setting, even someone as seemly nice as Nate. _Don’t get attached, you’re going to regret this,_ a little voice in his head whispers, _You’re terrible at making friends, he won’t stick around for very long once he gets to know you._

And yet, somehow, it doesn’t blow up in his face. Nate provides exactly what he said he would: a spot in one of the campus coffee shops that has an outlet for each of them, a table big enough for all of their study materials, and a silent study partner. They work in companionable silence and Ben is (mostly) able to focus on his reading, only looking up at Nate every now and then when he can’t help himself.

Once, when he looks up, he catches Nate looking at him--Nate’s whole face turns an interesting shade of pink and he looks down quickly again, biting into his lower lip.Ben absolutely should not find it adorable, but he also absolutely should not be here in this coffee shop either and especially not with a guy who was a total stranger only mere hours ago. He usually isn't this impulsive.

Eventually though, their study session has to end. Ben has to stream tonight and only the thought of disappointing his regulars (and losing on a night’s income) is enough to force him to sigh and close the book he’s been taking notes from. 

“I gotta go,” he says, surprised at how reluctant he sounds to his own ears. Nate looks up from his reading, obviously disappointed as Ben starts to pack up his things. It makes him feel oddly guilty. “I promised my mom I’d call her at seven, and if I’m late I’ll never hear the end of it.” The lie comes too easily and he feels even more guilty now, especially when Nate nods, understanding. 

“I know how that goes. Thanks for studying with me though. It was nice.” The smile Nate gives him this time is a little shy, and it settles under Ben’s skin in a pleasant way, leaving him strangely warm, with that weird twisting feeling back in his stomach.

“It was,” Ben says, and before he can stop himself, the next words just tumble out of his mouth without permission. “Maybe we can do it again next week?”

Nate’s whole expression brightens and that same strange, queasy sort of feeling in Ben’s gut intensifies. “That’d be great,” Nate says, starting to pack his own things away. “I’ll see you in class next week then?”

“Yeah, see you then.” Ben manages an awkward smile before he shoulders his bag and heads out of the coffee shop. Study partners, he tells himself firmly. They can just be study partners without it meaning anything more than that. His awkwardness won’t get in the way if they stick to safe things like homework. 

He glances back over his shoulder to see Nate watching him through the coffee shop window, an odd expression on his face. When their eyes meet, Nate gives him a little wave, which Ben finds himself returning without thinking. When he does, Nate’s face lights up in another one of his brilliant smiles and Ben momentarily forgets how to breathe before he turns away again and keeps walking. 

It’s cold outside, fall edging slowly into the brisk Connecticut winter, but for some reason Ben feels strangely warm all the way back to his dorm room.


	4. Chapter 4

October fades into November, and the last of the lingering fall warmth flees along with it.

Ben sinks into a routine; class every day, study sessions twice a week with Nate after their lecture, and cam shows as often as he can fit them in. The money comes in steadily, a few hundred dollars a week on average, sometimes more, sometimes less. It’s still more than he would ever make at a campus job, but it’s not all from Virginia2202; he gets tips for his regular shows, plus the larger sums for private shows for other viewers, some nice and some...less nice. 

Despite all the time spent jerking off for strangers, Ben somehow doesn’t make for a terrible student; it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s huddled in the library, elbow-deep in books for a research paper for his psych class. As the afternoon winds towards evening, he gets a text from Nate about his plans for the night and Ben texts back some sort of non-committal answer about all the studying he has to do, not really thinking.

To his surprise Nate shows up in the library a half-hour later, cheeks flushed pink from the chilly November wind as he approaches the table Ben has staked out with his laptop and his research.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” Ben points out, raising an eyebrow as he takes in Nate’s appearance. “Especially without a coat, what the hell Nate? It’s freezing out there.”

“I had to rescue you.” Nate drops into the chair across from Ben, straddling it backwards and folding his arms around the back to hug the battered upholstery. “Come on Tallmadge, it’s Saturday! You can take a break from studying for a few hours to watch a shitty movie with me and eat pizza.” 

“I have a ton of homework.” Ben rubs his eyes under his glasses; the words in the book he’s skimming are starting to swim on the page. “And so do you--I know for a fact you haven’t finished the reading for Knox’s class.”

“Ben, seriously, if I have to read one more article about the industrial revolution today I’m going to die of consumption or whatever else people died of before they had WebMD.” Nate sighs dramatically, loud enough that the girl a few tables away looks up and scowls at the noise. Her expression softens when Nate flashes her a charming smile.

Ben snorts, glancing back down at his notes. He really should finish studying and then do a show, make a little bit more money to squirrel away for when he has to go home for Christmas break. But it’s getting harder and harder to resist Nate’s subtle (or not so subtle) attempts to spend more time together, especially when Nate is the only friend he really has on campus. And taking a night off does sound like a pretty good idea after five straight hours of studying.

“Fine,” he says, trying not to smile when Nate fistpumps in celebration. “But you’re buying the pizza.”

\--

Nate does better than just buying the pizza; he also conjures up a six pack of beer, waving off Ben’s questioning look. “No one’s going to bust us, I promise,” he says, grinning. “My RA doesn’t give a shit.”

It’s actual craft beer, not the cheap swill that Caleb and Abe used to drink behind the bleachers in high school, so Ben is mildly tipsy by his second bottle. He and Nate are on the bed, backs against the wall as they watch the movie on Nate’s roommate’s TV. It’s some ridiculous action flick that he would never watch on his own, but Nate had insisted on watching something “fun” despite Ben’s protest. He tries to pay attention, he really does, but he keeps getting distracted sneaking little sideways glances at Nate, who’s attention is fixed on the screen.

Ben honestly can’t tell some days if Nate is flirting with him or not; their silent study sessions have gotten a lot less silent as they’ve gotten to know each other, and he can’t deny that it’s been nice to have someone to spend time with. When they’re not in class or studying together, they text fairly often--mostly Nate sending funny pictures and stories from his job in the campus IT office. It’s all very similar to his friendships with Abe and Caleb, except there’s something about the way Nate treats him that just feels different.

Either he is trying to flirt with Ben and Ben is just terrible at picking up the signals (entirely possible, he admits, given his lack of dating experience) or Nate is just a really good, if slightly weird, friend. But sometimes Nate looks at him with this pained expression, like he wants to say something, but he never does and Ben wishes he knew what Nate was holding back. Whatever it is, it can’t be any worse than the secret Ben is keeping.

“The premise of this movie is ridiculous,” Ben mutters, rolling his eyes as the giant robot on the screen picks up what looks like an oil tanker and swings it at an equally-giant lizard monster. “I’m not sure something that size could be that graceful.”

“Man, shut up,” Nate grumbles, elbowing him in the side, hard enough that Ben winces at the sudden flare of pain. “You’re not supposed to think about the science, it’s a dumb action movie about giant space lizards.”

“You shut up,” Ben’s not really that fussed about the movie choice, but Nate is easy to rile up and he’s feeling extra loose from the beer, making it easier for him to have a little fun. “Next time I pick the movie.”

“I’m not watching something that has subtitles,” Nate warns, looking suspicious. Rolling his eyes (subtitles, honestly), Ben gives Nate a little shove, with barely enough force to move him. Making an affronted noise, Nate retaliates by shoving Ben right back, hard enough that Ben nearly falls over, flailing for a moment before he grabs onto the sleeve of Nate’s hoodie to catch himself. 

Not expecting the sudden weight, Nate yelps and tumbles sideways, landing on top of Ben hard enough to knock the breath out of him, and then it’s on. Ben tries to roll away but Nate tackles him and Ben, drawing on years of experience as one of five brothers, knows just where to shove his elbows to get Nate to yelp.

They grapple for a few minutes, laughing and cursing as they struggle to flip each other. Ben might have years of experience in wrestling with his brothers, but Nate has a few inches on him and the weight to match and quickly gains the upper hand; he lands on top of Ben again and pins him there, so close that Ben is sure Nate can feel the way his heart is suddenly pounding in his chest.

For a moment, neither of them moves, both breathing harshly. Ben is keenly aware of every inch of Nate’s body that is pressed against him, heavy and almost fever-hot. He bites his lower lip, unthinking, and Nate’s gaze drops to his mouth, the want so plain on his face that it makes Ben’s breath catch in his throat. Before he can do anything to break the moment, Nate leans down, pressing a tentative, too-brief kiss against Ben’s lips before he pulls back just as fast, eyes wide.

“Was that...okay?” Nate’s voice is barely a whisper. It’s the softest Ben has ever heard him speak, so hesitant that it makes his chest ache. He's been trying so hard to ignore how much he wanted this, but his reaction to that one kiss has smashed any deniability he might have been able to hold onto.

“More than okay,” he whispers back, curling a hand around the back of Nate’s neck. Their second kiss is still tentative and more than a little awkward, noses bumping as they both try to take control, their bodies still pressed flush against each other. 

When they break apart again, Nate’s face lights up with a dopey grin. Ben can’t help but grin back at him; his head feels warm and a little fuzzy, and whether it’s from the beer or the way Nate is looking at him, it really doesn’t matter. He wants to hold on to this feeling forever.

“You wanna keep watching the movie, or…” Nate’s words trail off and he waggles his eyebrows in a blatantly suggestive manner. It makes Ben laugh as he pulls Nate back down to kiss him again.

“Definitely or.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Sorry I’m late!” Ben says as he adjusts the webcam’s view of his room, still a little out of breath from running halfway across campus. “Got a little caught up in some personal stuff.”

He glances at the responses as they fill the chat room; as usual, Virginia2202 is there, one of hundreds but always the one he looks for first. _[Nothing bad, I hope?]_

“Everything’s fine, I promise.” Ben holds back from admitting the actual reason he was late--he and Nate had gone back to Nate’s room after class to “study” and had, predictably, gotten distracted. If he hadn’t already promised to be online for a show tonight, he’s pretty sure Nate could have convinced him to stay even longer. But it seems wrong to bring up his...whatever Nate is, when he’s about to get off for a bunch of strangers. Especially when Nate has no idea about this part of his life.

It’s not that Ben doesn’t want to tell him...he just hasn’t found a good way to bring it up without sounding awkward and weird. _I jerk off for strangers on the internet and get paid, hope you’re okay with that._ Ben just doesn’t see that going over well with a guy he’s only just started seeing. And it’s not like he and Nate have done much yet, just a lot of making out and a bit of groping during the too-infrequent times they do meet up between classes and Nate’s campus job.

Pushing the thoughts of Nate aside, along with the vaguely nauseating guilt, Ben refocuses all his attention on the chat. Stripping off his t-shirt, he tosses it off to the side and gives the camera his best encouraging smile, forcing himself back into the role he’s become comfortable with playing for his audience. “Anyway, let’s have some fun tonight, huh?”

\--

George spends his last night in Virginia doing what he’s done nearly every night for the past few months: eyes glued to his laptop screen, one hand fisted around his dick as he watches Tallboy gasp with pleasure. Tonight he’s fucking himself with two fingers, legs spread wide so George has a perfect view of those long fingers disappearing into his tight, lube-slicked asshole.

Over the last few months, George has learned a few things about Tallboy; he still blushes whenever he gets a compliment, he responds incredibly well to directions or praise, and he really, really likes when George tells him when to come. All of which are things that George is happy to indulge in, given the lovely reactions he gets out of Tallboy in response.

He stops stroking himself just long enough to type instructions into the chat box, smiling when he sees the way Tallboy’s eyes flicker instantly to his screen to read George’s message.

_[Do you want to come?]_

Tallboy nods rapidly, fucking himself a little faster in obvious anticipation of George’s permission. “Can I?” 

George types out a response before he can stop himself, caught up in the moment and his own impending orgasm. _[Be a good boy and ask nicely.]_

“Please,” Tallboy whines, turning his pleading expression to the camera. There’s a sheen to his eyes that George thinks might be tears; he shouldn’t find that hot, but he’s not about to question his reactions right now, not when he’s perilously close to the edge. “Please sir, can I come?”

_Sir._ That’s a new one, and the effect it has on George is instantaneous. He grips his dick hard and groans, leaning back in his chair as he comes, quicker and more intensely than he’d anticipated. It takes a minute or two for him to catch his breath again and when he does, he looks at his screen. To his surprise, Tallboy is just sitting there looking uncertain, perched on the edge of his bed, no longer touching himself at all though his dick is still clearly hard.

“...Was that not okay?” he asks after a moment, hesitant, and George instantly feels terrible. Of course he’d question his reaction; George is usually much better about responding quickly when they’re near the end, making sure Tallboy gets off first before he lets himself come. His unusual silence must have been worrying. 

_[No, that was good. Very, very good. A little too good, actually.]_

“Ooohh _,_ ” Tallboy says, instantly catching George’s meaning. His cheeks flush a faint pink, a reaction George has never gotten tired of seeing. In fact, lately it seems he’s been doing everything he can to encourage the appearance of that blush as often as possible. It’s almost a game, to see how often he can make it happen in a night. “Okay. It just kind of...slipped out, and I wasn’t sure.”

Despite George’s reassurance, Tallboy doesn’t make any attempt to start touching himself again and it takes George a moment to realize why: he never actually gave Tallboy permission to come. _I wonder if he’d deny himself entirely,_ he thinks, and feels instantly uncomfortably by how intriguing he finds that idea. He files the thought away for later...contemplation, and focus his attention on Tallboy again.

_[You were_ very _good. I think you’ve more than earned the right to come, if you’d still like to?]_ As much as he’d enjoy seeing it, George isn’t going to insist. Watching someone jerk off out of obligation rather than actual enjoyment isn’t at all appealing to him. And it just seems wrong to insist that Tallboy keep going if he doesn’t want to.

Tallboy looks a little startled when he sees George’s message. “I don’t want to waste your time if you don’t need me anymore,” he says, clearly still unsure, and it makes George’s heart ache just a little bit. Of course, he understands that he’s not Tallboy’s only customer, but it makes him wonder how many of the others actually take the time to make sure Tallboy is enjoying himself while they’re getting their rocks off. Not many, he’d guess, judging by the way Tallboy seems to light up just a little bit brighter whenever George pays for his time, how often he picks his requests over any other.

[ _You could never be a waste of my time_ ,] he types, frowning. It’s a little too personal, but that’s something for him to worry about later at considerable length. [ _But if you’d rather not, please don’t feel like you have to just because I said anything._ ]

“No!” Tallboy says quickly, then visibly reigns himself back in, taking a deep breath before he smiles at the camera, a little shyly. “I...I’d still like to.” He says something else under his breath, too quiet for George to make out, but whatever it is, it clearly doesn’t have an effect on Tallboy’s decision; he scoots back on his bed and wraps his fingers around his flagging erection, giving himself a couple of quick, firm strokes.

Even though there’s no way in hell George is getting it up again this quickly, no matter how much he might want to, it doesn’t stop him from avidly watching as Tallboy works himself up to full hardness again, pale limbs sprawled across his dark sheets as he whimpers, just loud enough for the mic to pick up. George knows that Tallboy can put on a show if he wants to--he’s seen it in the public chat, on the nights that he doesn’t do private one-on-ones, and the difference in the way he gets himself off between then and now is like night and day. This is the real Tallboy, not the cam performer persona, and it’s even more enticing seeing him whimper and writhe, clearly desperate for the orgasm he’s chasing. 

Tallboy keeps glancing over at his screen every few minutes, looking more and more desperate by the moment. It takes him whimpering a choked out plea for George to realize he actually _wants_ George to talk to him still, even though he’s only watching because Tallboy is allowing him the privilege. 

Not for the first time, George wishes he had a mic or some way to talk to him that isn’t the awkward, stilted way his words come out when he types--he’s not sure he would be much better verbally, but it would at least convey more emotion than text on a screen.

_[You’re gorgeous, keep going]_ he types, watching with a little bit of smug delight as the praise brings a deeper color to Tallboy’s already flushed cheeks. He’s biting his lip, muffling the sounds coming out of his mouth, and George immediately respondswith _[Don’t be quiet if you don’t want to. I like hearing you.]_

He watches hungrily as moments later Tallboy cries out what sounds like a bitten-off curse, the movement of his hand coming to a jerky halt as he throws his head back, eyes tightly shut. His whole body shudders as he comes, spilling messily across his stomach, chest heaving as he gasps for air. George is half-hard again, his body more than willing to make a valiant attempt, but there’s no way he can get off twice in less than an hour. He ignores his dick for the moment and focuses on Tallboy’s slack, blissed-out expression as he drifts back to awareness, his long lashes starkly visible against his flushed cheeks.

_[Better?]_ he asks, waiting patiently as Tallboy turns his head, blinking as he focuses on the screen and laughs, soft and easy.

“Yeah, much better.” The slightly dazed smile Tallboy gives him tugs at George’s heart again. _God, he’s beautiful,_ he thinks, watching the young man fight against a yawn. “Not sure I can stay awake much longer though.”

George smiles as Tallboy blinks sleepily at the screen, clearly struggling to stay awake. _[Then you should get some sleep.]_

“Okay,” Tallboy says, smiling as he fights another yawn. “Goodnight Virginia.” 

George knows he can’t, but god, he wants to tell Tallboy his real name just to hear him say it out loud in that soft, sleepy voice that he knows is going to take root in his subconscious now. _[Sleep well, Tallboy. Sweet dreams.]_

He logs off and leans back, staring up at the ceiling, the doubt and guilt immediately creeping in now that he has nothing to distract himself with. When did this thing go from purely physical release to something else entirely? George knows he’s always had a difficult time separating the mechanics of sex from emotional intimacy, but apparently even the imposed physical distance doesn’t change the fact that he’s overly-attached to a complete stranger half his age that he has to pay for his time. Not exactly a healthy basis to any kind of relationship, platonic or otherwise.

It’ll be different after he goes home. In New Haven, he has friends and colleagues to distract himself; he won’t be alone with no one but a cam model for company. He’ll have classes to teach, and his book to finish, and much less time to spend jerking off.

It’s for the best for both of them, really. When he’s got something more productive to distract himself with, he’ll forget all about this stupid infatuation, and Tallboy can find other customers who won’t develop a wholly inappropriate level of attachment. 

And maybe once he’s cut himself off, he’ll be able to dream about something besides how soft his lips would feel in person, or the taste of all that smooth skin under his tongue.

Maybe.

_\--_

Ben wakes up to the blaring sounds of several text notifications in a row. They drag him rudely out of a heavy, dreamless sleep and it takes him a few moments to wake up enough to realize what the sound even is. Groping blindly at his bedside table, he finally gets his fingers around his phone and pulls it close to his face so he can read the texts without having to find his glasses.

[nate: 7:05am] WAKE UP

[nate: 7:05am] you told me to wake you up early so you could study today

[nate: 7:06am] get your hot ass out of bed!

[nate: 7:06am] coffee and bagels if you can make it downstairs in ten minutes

The last text is accompanied by a selfie of Nate with a large cup of coffee from their usual coffee spot, making doe-eyes at the camera. Ben groans and buries his face in his pillow for a moment, sorely tempted to just go right back to sleep, but the siren call of caffeine (and his boyfriend) is too strong.

Bleary-eyed and yawning, Ben pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a relatively clean t-shirt, stumbling over a pile of textbooks as he digs around his closet for a hoodie that he’s pretty sure is actually Nate’s. Thankfully, he put his glasses on top of his dresser last night, so he doesn’t have to try and deal with contacts this early in the morning, but one glance in the mirror confirms his suspicion that there’s nothing he’s going to be able to do about his wicked bedhead without involving a shower.

Still yawning, he makes his way downstairs to the dining hall, where Nate has commandeered one of the smaller tables. At this hour on a Saturday morning there aren’t many people around, so Ben doesn’t hesitate to lean over and drop a kiss on Nate’s head before he flops into the chair across from him and makes a grab for the coffee and the bagel Nate brought him.

“Well good morning to you too, sunshine.” Nate pushes the cup towards Ben, smirking. “Nice hair.”

“Shut up,” Ben grumbles. “Coffee first, then mocking.” 

Nate mimes zipping his lips and takes a huge bite of his bagel, somehow managing to get cream cheese on the tip of his nose. Ben fights back a laugh and takes a drink of his coffee, pleasantly surprised to find that it’s exactly how he likes it--two sugars, no cream. Of course Nate would remember his coffee order; he’s always that thoughtful, remembering Ben’s preferences and making sure to accommodate them. It makes Ben feel a little guilty that he can’t always remember the same for Nate--but he tries, he really does, but he doesn’t always succeed.

They finish their bagels and coffee in comfortable silence as more student slowly filter into the dining hall. Full and caffeinated, Ben feels marginally more human, enough to give Nate a tired, grateful smile.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he says, fighting against another yawn. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Hell yes we are. I was promised a movie and popcorn if I let you take a raincheck on hanging out last night. No backing out on me now.” Nate crumples up the paper wrapper from his bagel and tucks it inside his empty coffee cup, then stands. “My shift on the hell desk ends at six. Meet you after?”

“It’s a date.” Ben manages to keep his smile steady as Nate gives him a quick kiss and then heads out. Last night…god, that had been stupid. Not doing a show--he needed the money, that’s why he’d lied to Nate about having homework. But why had he kept going after Virginia had finished? He should have just said ‘no’ and logged out for the night--Virginia had gotten off, and that’s all that mattered, that’s what he paid for. And as long as he gets paid, it really doesn’t matter if Ben gets to come or not.

Except things are different with Virginia. It’s _always_ been different, ever since that very first show, and last night was just more proof of that. Ben had _wanted_ to come for him. Getting too attached to a client is a disaster waiting to happen, no matter how kind or generous Virginia is to Ben.

And he has Nate to think about; Nate, who still knows nothing about what Ben does on the nights they spend apart, who doesn’t even question why Ben is unavailable sometimes. Nate, who trusts Ben without question, who brings him coffee from their favorite coffee shop at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning even though there’s perfectly good coffee in the dining hall, just because he knows it’s Ben’s favorite. Things that Ben should be reciprocating, but he just doesn’t seem to have that same instinct to be the kind of caring, considerate boyfriend that Nate deserves. 

This is why he’s never had a real relationship before, why even his closest friendships are based on tangible reasons like proximity and mutual interests and not just emotions. More than once, he’s heard people describe him as ‘cold’--maybe this is just how he’s always going to be. He doesn’t know how to just let people be kind to him without feeling the desperate urge to run away, or pay it back like some kind of owed debt. 

Maybe that’s what he’ll do tonight--find some way to pay Nate back, even things between them again. It might not fix everything, but if he can do even something small, maybe it’ll shut up the part of Ben’s brain that is ticking down the minutes until everything goes horribly wrong.

At the very least, it’s worth a shot.

\--

As planned, Ben meets Nate after his shift and they head back to Nate’s room together. Nate has declared Saturday nights a “no study zone”, so they split an order of sweet and sour chicken from the one decent Chinese take out that delivers to campus and two beers, arguing good-naturedly about what movie to watch. Ben lets Nate win, mostly because he likes watching Nate preen about being victorious, and also because he honestly doesn’t care. The movie isn’t why he’s here.

They barely make it ten minutes into the movie before Ben gives up on pretending to care and practically crawls into Nate’s lap to kiss him. Nate, always a good sport when it comes to kissing, responds enthusiastically, one arm slung around Ben’s hips to keep him close as they trade kisses that get sloppier and a little more desperate the more that Ben grinds his hips down into Nate’s crotch.

“Fuck, Ben, c’mon,” Nate whines finally, his hands tugging at the hem of Ben’s hoodie. “I want, can I--”

“Yeah,” Ben says quickly, leaning back so he can pull off his hoodie and the t-shirt underneath. The way Nate looks at him, hungry and reverent at the same time, makes Ben’s cheeks heat up, stirring up emotions he doesn’t want to deal with just now, and he quickly leans back in to kiss Nate again.

Once Nate is thoroughly distracted, his own shirt discarded somewhere along the way, Ben slides off of his lap and settles between his legs, palms resting on his thighs for a moment before he slowly slides them up towards the bulge in Nate’s jeans. When he looks up, Nate is staring down at him with wide eyes.

“Are you sure?” he asks, even though he’s clearly interested what Ben is offering. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” Ben says firmly, his fingers already unbuttoning Nate’s jeans. He does want this, and not just because it’ll do anything to lessen the guilt that’s still gnawing at him. He might not be the kind of conscientious, caring boyfriend that Nate is, but he can at least give Nate this, something to show him how much he means to Ben. He gets Nate’s jeans down over his hips and tosses them aside, presses a kiss to the trail of light hair just above the waistband of his boxers before he slides a hand inside to pull out his dick.

He hasn’t done this with an actual person since the summer between junior and senior year of high school, when he gave Peter Bowman a pretty sloppy blow job behind their cabin at debate camp. It had been okay then--Peter had enjoyed it a lot more than Ben had, coming in about two minutes flat and then awkwardly giving Ben a handjob so half-hearted that Ben had to finish himself off. Not the best moment in his limited sexual experience by any stretch of the imagination.

But just the sound that Nate makes when Ben’s lips slide over the head of his cock is ten times better than the entirety of his experience with Peter. And it’s easier for Ben to enjoy it now that he knows what he’s doing; at the very least, he can thank his cam shows for giving him more practice with sucking dick even if it’s a fake one. Nate’s cock is just a little shorter than the dildo he uses, but definitely thicker, and Ben has to concentrate on not gagging when he takes more of it, humming in smug satisfaction when Nate curses and grabs the sheets in his clenched fists.

“Fuck!” Nate gasps, his hips bucking, and Ben has to pull back a little to keep from choking. He doesn’t stop though, just rolls with it, wrapping his fingers around the base of Nate’s cock as he swallows him down again. 

He can tell Nate’s not gonna last long, just by the way he’s panting Ben’s name like it’s the only word he remembers. And that’s fine--this is Ben doing what he can to make up for his own inadequacies the only way he knows how. He can do this for Nate and somehow it’ll even the score between them, and maybe he’ll stop feeling like such a failure. 

Nate swats urgently at his shoulder. “ _Ben_ ,” he whimpers, eyes screwed tightly shut, and this time it’s definitely pitched like a warning. Ruthlessly, Ben doubles down, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks hard on the head of Nate’s cock, and Nate comes with a sharp cry, his hips jerking under Ben’s hands.

Ben has never found the idea of swallowing very appealing, but there’s nowhere for him to spit and he doesn’t have time to pull back, so he does his best, choking just a little bit on the bitter, salty fluid that fills his mouth. It’s not terrible, but he does reach for Nate’s beer to wash away the taste when he pulls off. Thankfully, Nate doesn’t see him do it; his eyes are still tightly shut as he breathes heavily, hissing in discomfort when Ben presses a kiss to the oversensitive head of his dick before crawling back up onto the bed.

They lay there together for a moment before Nate finally breaks the comfortable silence, still a little dazed. “Holy shit.” He blindly gropes for Ben’s hand and squeezes it. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“You never asked,” Ben points out, unable to keep the smug satisfaction out of his voice. He deliberately ignores his own dick, still achingly hard in his jeans, still determined to make tonight all about Nate. He can wait, get off later in the shower or something when he goes back to his room.

Nate, however, seems to have other ideas; he reaches down between them and Ben sucks in a sharp breath when his fingers ghost along the outline of his erection. “Can I…” he asks, a little shy, and Ben struggles against the immediate urge to say _Yes, yes, fuck yes, please touch me._

“You don’t have to,” he says, echoing Nate’s earlier words. “I’m good.” At Nate’s skeptical look, he forces a smile and sits up, gently moving Nate’s hand away from his dick. “Really, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

Nate looks like he might start to argue, but before he can get a word out he yawns hugely. “Fine,” he grumbles, and Ben silently rejoices. “But you’re staying the night.”

Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Nate’s expression turns pleading and he deflates instantly. “Okay,” he agrees, reminding himself that he promised to make tonight all his boyfriend. If Nate wants him to stay, he’ll stay. He can do that much, if it’ll make Nate happy.

They finish watching the movie with only the occasional distraction, lazy kisses that don’t go any further. By the time the movie ends, it’s pretty clear to Ben that Nate isn’t going to be awake much longer, so Ben strips down to just his boxers and crawls under the sheets. Nate turns off the lights and slides in behind Ben, looping one arm across his waist as they settle in.

They lay there for a few minutes in the dark, comfortably silent and half-asleep, until Nate presses a kiss against Ben’s shoulder He hums, content, then murmurs “Night handsome. Love you.”

Panic floods Ben’s body and he stiffens, instantly awake again, but Nate is already asleep, his breathing even and deep.

_Fuck_. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind the most recent tag

“Send me a text when you get home, okay?” Nate presses a kiss to Ben’s cheek, then groans as he hoists his oversized suitcase into the trunk of his brother’s rusty Honda Civic. “We still gotta figure out plans for New Years. I’ll drive down to Setauket myself to pick you up if I have to.”

“I can take the train, it’s fine.” Ben protests, shoving his hands further into his jacket pockets. Why hadn’t he put on gloves or something before coming out to help Nate load up his shit? It’s freezing.

“Quit kissing your boyfriend and let’s go!” Nate’s brother hollers from inside the Civic, impatient. Nate flips him off and grins, pulling Ben in for another kiss. Cursing audibly, Nate’s brother honks the car horn and they pull apart, laughing.

Ben smiles, ignoring the swooping feeling in his stomach that always seems to happen when Nate kisses him in public. He’s never been good about PDA, but his resistance against Nate’s charms has all but vanished since they started dating. “Have a good Christmas, Nate.” 

“You too, Ben.” Nate’s expression turns soft and serious for a moment, and he squeezes Ben’s shoulder. “I’m not kidding. Just say the word and I’ll come get you--you can crash at our house, there’s a guest room and everything. My mom won’t mind.”

“I’ll be okay.” Ben says. When Nate looks hesitant, he gives him a slight push towards the car and forces a smile. “Go, before your brother leaves you behind.”

Ben watches the Civic drive off until it’s out of view. Now that finals are over, he doesn’t have anything to think about other than the entire month he has to spend at home over winter break, trapped in a too-small house with his brothers and his parents--

His jaw clenches. His parents...he loves them, he does. But they’re not the most enlightened people, small town born and raised, good God-fearing folk. There are a lot of things they don’t know about him, beyond even how he’s paying for his tuition. Nate is going to be the biggest complication of all. 

A month. He can last a month in the house if he keeps his mouth shut and passes Nate off as a good friend from school. Make up some excuse about a campus job that’s taking up all his free time to explain why he barely ever calls home. 

It takes him hours to get home--a train from New Haven to Bridgeport, then the ferry across the sound. William is waiting for him, standing by their ancient wood-paneled minivan, his rigid posture catching Ben’s attention before he even gets off the dock. They’ve never been terribly close, but ever since Will went off to West Point, the two year age difference between them has felt more like a decade.

But it’s still Will, tall and familiar, in his Army hoodie and jeans, hatless despite the chilly Long Island winter winds, and something in Ben’s chest tightens at the sight. He’s tried so hard not to be homesick, but there’s always a part of him that feels a little lost when he’s not surrounded by his brothers.

“Looking sharp, Cadet Tallmadge,” he says as he approaches the van, grinning at Will’s eyeroll. 

“Stuff it, Benny.” Will’s voice is deeper than he remembers, but there’s still the familiar hint of patronizing disapproval that always reminds Ben of their father. “Mom would have picked you up, but Isaac is having a meltdown over his costume for the Christmas Pageant.”

Ben makes a face as he shoves his bags in the back. “Don’t call me Benny. Isn’t Isaac too old for the pageant now?” 

“It’s his last year, and he knows it. Hence the fit.”

The drive from the port to Setauket is short, too short for Ben to really prepare himself for the mix of feelings that churn in his gut as Will pulls into the driveway. It’s the only home he’s ever known until he left for Yale, but it feels so different now, smaller and shabbier than he remembers. His dad’s ancient Cadillac is in the driveway, taking up too much space as always, but Will manages to pull the van in with enough room for Ben to get out without having to crawl over a snowbank.

“We’re home!” Will calls as they stomp off the snow inside the front hall. Ben kicks off his boots, remembering just in time to put them neatly on the rack by the door, before his mother comes around the corner, Isaac following on her heels in half of what Ben recognizes as his old shepherd's costume from when he was in the annual Christmas pageant. 

“Benjamin!” His mother beams. “Come here sweetie, let me look at you!”

Ben allows his mom to pull him in for a hug, stooping down so she can get her arms around his shoulders without stretching. She’s exactly as he remembers--shorter, stout, the familiar combination of cheap hairspray, coffee, and drugstore perfume that she’s smelled like for his entire life. For a moment he’s certain he’s going to start crying, the prickle of tears burning in the corners of his eyes, but Isaac yells for their mom’s attention and it breaks whatever spell he seems to be under just in time before he loses it completely.

“Isaac!” All three boys wince at her tone, and Isaac steps back in genuine fear as she turns around, fixing him with a glare. “I haven’t seen Benjamin in months. If you’re going to be a spoiled brat, you can always sit out the pageant this year and I’ll let everyone know why.”

Isaac’s face crumples as he begins to cry, his thin shoulders heaving. Their mother, instantly contrite, rushes to shush him, then swears under her breath when the oven timer dings from the kitchen. “Ben, sweetie, can you go take the casserole out of the oven? Will, get your father from the study so we can say grace before dinner.”

\--

Dinner is an awkward affair. 

Ben is quiet through most of it, answering questions when spoken to but otherwise not participating in any of the conversations. He lets his brothers do most of the talking, only half-listening as John and Sam chatter on about hockey practice. 

“You’ve been quiet, Benjamin,” his father says, once they’re all nearly finished. “I would have thought you’d have more to say about Yale. You were so excited when you left.” From anyone else, Ben might accept it as an expression of actual concern, but Ben knows that tone from his dad, knows full well that he disapproved of Ben going to an out of state school. Too much room for Ben to get into trouble without the guiding hands of his parents to keep him on the right track. Too many bad influences.

If only they had any idea just how far he’d strayed. 

“Just tired, sir. My last final was this morning and I stayed up too late studying.” The lie comes easily before he even thinks about it, and he has to fight not to brace himself for the blow that’s sure to come-- _Lying’s a sin in the eyes of God, Benjamin, and sinners have to repent._ But his father merely nods, taking Ben’s words at face value without so much as a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, I suppose you can be excused if you’d like to go on up to bed. Just make sure you’re up early enough to shower before church.” 

Ben hurries out a “thank you”, taking his dishes to the kitchen before he detours to the front hallway for his bags. It’s two flights of stairs to his bedroom, right up to the attic. It took them then entire summer between his freshman and sophomore years of high school, but he and Will had helped their dad finish the space so they could each have their own painfully small bedroom, tucked under the eaves of the house. 

It’s small, but it has a door and it’s _his._ He doesn’t dare try to call Nate at this point, but he does fire off a quick text-- _home safe. Okay so far. Miss you._ \--before he deletes the conversation. His phone has a passcode, but he doesn’t trust his parents or his brothers to keep their hands off his things. 

Nate texts back quick enough. Ben hasn’t told him everything about what his parents are like, but he knows enough, so the text is mild. _Miss you too. Call me whenever you can. Mom says hi. Still a place for you here if you need it._

Ben deletes the text, swallowing against the sharp lump that rises in his throat. Nate’s never brought up the whole ‘love’ thing since that one sleepy admission, and Ben’s not sure he’s even aware that he said it, but he’s more aware than ever of how it comes through in every one of Nate’s little gestures. He still can’t even think the word without feeling queasy, but right now he misses Nate with an intensity that he didn’t expect. It’s a little frightening. 

It’s being back in this house, he decides as he changes into his pajamas. Being under this roof, with his father’s endless rules and his mother’s overbearing affection: it’s suffocating after the freedom of Yale. How he’s going to make it through the few days to Christmas, he has no idea--let alone the three weeks until he can go back to school. 

And Christmas means relatives; aunts and uncles and too many cousins to count, all underfoot and nosy about everything and anything that isn’t their own boring lives. Ben’s the first of them to go someplace more lofty than Stony Brook, except for the handful that have gone into the service like Will, and it makes him even more of a curiosity than usual. He’ll never be able to escape it.

His phone vibrates again. More texts from Nate, one right after the other.

_Was hoping you’d find it on your own_

_but now I’m worried your folks will find it first._

_Check the inside pocket of your blue duffle_

_Merry Christmas._

Inside the duffle, in a pocket he likely would have never looked in, Ben finds an lumpy, badly-wrapped package. He unwraps it carefully, as quiet as he can in case one of his brothers is lurking nearby.

Inside the wrapping is a pair of knit woolen gloves in a dark navy, ones he remembers looking at longingly when he and Nate had gone Christmas shopping for their respective families. But in the palm of the gloves is tucked a battered iPod nano, it’s bright orange paint scratched in several places, with a folded-up note tucked under the headphone cords wrapped around the middle.

He recognizes it instantly as the one Nate carries with him almost everywhere; he teased Nate about it once, early on, only to find out that it was the last present Nate’s dad gave him before his parents split when he was in middle school. The note is short, just a few lines in Nate’s untidy chicken scratch.

_Merry Christmas. The gloves are for you, the nano is a loan. Hopefully it helps drown out the noise a bit._

_Miss you already. Stay warm, stay safe, I’ll see you soon._

_Love,_

_Nate_

For Nate to give him this, even temporarily...it’s too much. But it’s exactly the kind of gesture Nate would make, something meaningful but small that Ben can keep hidden from his family. The gloves are something he could have bought on his own, if they find the iPod he can simply say a friend lent it to him. All above board, nothing suspicious that might require more pointed questions about Nate.

The note is another story; it’s incriminating, nothing he can explain away as a joke, and Nate is far too masculine of a name to try and pretend otherwise. He could rip it up and dispose of it somehow, but it’s tangible evidence of Nate’s feelings, something he’s reluctant to throw away. It’s small enough--he can tuck it in his wallet, it’ll be safe there. 

Ben falls asleep that night to the familiar lull of Nate’s study playlist, the iPod clutched tightly in his hand.

\--

Christmas Eve drags on endlessly in the Tallmadge household; Isaac is in the pageant, which means Ben has to attend, and then stay for the family service afterward. And by the time that’s over, there’s just enough time before the candlelight service to have a quick dinner and get Isaac tucked in bed. 

The candlelight service has always been the one part of the actual religious part of Christmas that Ben didn’t mind. He’d even been in the choir during his middle school years, until his voice had settled too deep for the boy soprano parts. He’d stopped being particularly religious long ago but being a pastor’s son means keeping up appearances, so he dutifully kept up with the service despite the lateness of the hour. His father’s voice echos through the rafters, recounting the familiar story of the angel and the shepherds; beside him, his mother gently shakes John awake again for the second time since the service began.

Ben’s thoughts drift to Nate, wondering how he’s spending his Christmas Eve. They’ve never really talked about religion, outside of a few conversations about Ben practically growing up in a church, but he knows the Hales celebrate Christmas. Maybe when the service is over, he can sneak somewhere private to send a text, maybe even a phone call if Nate’s still awake at midnight.

He forgets all about texting by the time they get home, too exhausted to do more than climb up the stairs and fall directly into bed. 

In the morning, the house is absolute chaos, everyone shoveling down breakfast while they get ready for Christmas Day services. Ben’s barely awake for that one, doesn’t even notice that his younger brothers keep trading furtive glances and whispers until their mother rebukes them under her breath during the sermon. He glances at Will, confused, but Will stares solidly ahead at their father, his expression perfectly neutral. 

When they get back home, Ben has a few minutes before his mom will need him to start helping in the kitchen, so he heads upstairs again to get his cell phone, which he’d left charging during church, but stops dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs.

His door is wide open and someone’s been through his things--his duffle bag is half-open and his clothes are definitely not where he left them. For a moment, all he feels is the familiar irritation at once again having his brothers root through his stuff like the nosy little brats they are--and then the panic sets in.

Not only is his phone missing, but so is his wallet, which he’d forgotten to grab off the bedside table before church.

“Looking for something?”

Ben turns around, looking down the stairs. John and Sam are on the landing; John’s arms are folded across his chest, Sam’s holding up his wallet and smirking.

“Give it back, Sam,” Ben fights to keep the panic out of his voice. “You know better than to touch my stuff.”

“Sam and I had a bet going about whether or not you’d get a girlfriend at Yale,” John says, too casual for the mocking glint in his eyes. Ben swallows against a sudden swell of nausea, knowing with a sick certainty where this is going even before John continues. “But unless your girlfriend’s got a really weird nickname, I’m pretty sure ‘Nate’ is a boy’s name.”

Ben launches himself down the stairs before John’s even finished saying Nate’s name, grabbing for the wallet, but Sam makes a break down to the living room. Ben lunges to follow but John grabs him by the arm; they struggle for a moment, grappling and cursing, before Ben breaks free and chases after Sam, shouting his name.

“Benjamin, Samuel, what on earth--” Their mom comes into the living room just in time to catch Ben plowing into Sam, pushing him right up against the wall. “Ben! Let go of your brother, for God’s sake!”

Ben ignores her, struggling to hold Sam down until he gets his fingers around the wallet and yanks it away. Sam makes an attempt to grab it back, but their mom gets in between them, scowling as she grabs onto Sam’s shirt to keep him away from Ben. 

“It’s Christmas, you two need to cut it out before your father--”

“Ben has a boyfriend.” John announces loudly behind them, and everything freezes.

The bottom drops out of Ben’s stomach as his mother lets go of Sam’s shirt and turns, zeroing in on her middle son. “What did you say?”

“There’s a note in his wallet from some guy named Nate. It’s his boyfriend.” John glares at Ben over their mom’s shoulder. Even during their worst fights he’s never looked at Ben like that before--no one has ever looked at him with that much disgust. It’s like a punch to the gut, leaving Ben speechless and sick.

“Benjamin, what is he talking about?” His mother rounds on him now with sharply narrowed eyes. Behind her, he spots Isaac hovering in the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide as he takes in the tense standoff between Ben, his brothers, and their mom.

“Nate’s not my boyfriend.” He feels sick saying it, but he can’t stop himself. Nate will forgive him for trying to save his own ass, he’s sure of it. “The note was a joke, he was just being stupid--”

“Oh yeah? Then why did he text you this morning?” Sam says, accusing. Ben glares at him, remembering the missing cell phone, which Sam produces from his pocket and holds out to their mom. She snatches it from his hand before Ben can try and grab for it, then scowls at him.

“What’s the passcode, Ben?” When he doesn’t answer, her expression turns hard. “I pay for this phone and if you ever want it back, you’ll tell me the passcode right now or so help me…”

Ben rattles off the numbers, feeling sicker by the minute as his mother unlocks his phone and goes into his texts. He’d deleted all the previous ones from Nate, but if Nate had sent him one while he was at church…

His mother clenches her jaw, then puts the phone in her pocket and grabs Ben’s elbow hard enough to make him wince. When she pulls him towards the hallway, he knows instantly where they’re going and it’s almost enough to make him want to pull back and try to make a run for it. His mother must anticipate his reaction; her grip gets even tighter and he bites back a yelp as she drags him to the door of his father’s study.

“Come in,” comes the muffled response from inside when his mother knocks. She yanks the door open, dragging Ben inside the dark, wood-paneled room that has always put a touch of fear into him ever since he was a child. Nothing good ever came of being in this room, only scoldings and the occasional ‘discipline’ that his father doled out whenever one of the boys got too mouthy for their own good.

His father looks up from his newspaper and frowns, clearly noticing the tension between Ben and his mom. “Susannah, what’s going on?”

“Your son,” she starts, glaring at Ben for a moment before her attention switches back to her husband. “Has been keeping a secret.” Before Ben can protest, she holds out the phone to his father, who takes it and looks down at the screen. Whatever Nate’s text says, it’s more than enough; his father’s jaw clenches and he drops the phone onto his desk with a look of disgust.

“Explain yourself. Now.”

Ben glances down at the phone on the ground; it landed screen-up, so he can clearly see the shirtless selfie of Nate, grinning, with a cheap Santa hat. He can’t read the text below it but whatever it is, coupled with the picture, it’s enough that Ben probably can’t deny it any more without it being an obvious lie, which will only make things worse.

He doesn’t _want_ to deny it. The last few days, cooped up in this house with his family, have only served as a reminder why he left in the first place--he doesn’t belong here. He’s never fit in with his brothers; he’s too soft and weak for them, and ten times smarter than they’ll ever be, and they’ve always resented him for it. 

“That’s Nate. He’s my boyfriend.” Behind him, he hears his mother suck in a sharp, surprised breath, but Ben keeps going, locking eyes with his father as he keeps going, words tumbling out faster than he can think. “He’s twice as smart as I am and ten times funnier, and I love him.”

The last part comes out before he can stop himself, but he knows instantly that it’s true--he does love Nate, probably has for weeks now, but he’s been so goddamn afraid of everything falling apart that he’s held himself back from even considering it. 

His father’s expression twists into an ugly mix of disgust and anger as he stands, looming over Ben like a vengeful god. “You know what the Lord says--”

“I don’t give a fuck what God says!” Ben yells, then rocks back from the force of his father’s hand as it strikes his face in a slap that echos off the wooden walls. 

“You will speak of the Lord with respect, or you won’t speak at all!” his father snaps, righteous with fury, and Ben sees red. His fist flies out, connecting solidly with his father’s jaw, and he hears his mother scream as his father stumbles backwards. Ben seizes the moment and grabs his phone, then shoves past his mother and makes a break for the stairs. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s nearly finished shoving the last of his stuff into his duffle bag--whether it’s from the rage or the pain, he doesn’t know, but he angrily wipes the tears away and zips his bag shut, then hauls it over his shoulder.

He gets down the stairs, out the door, and halfway down the driveway before anyone tries to stop him; it’s Isaac who calls after him, running outside after Ben without shoes or a jacket. Ben turns, tensed and ready for more attacks, but Isaac just looks up at him, solemn.

“Sam took this from your stuff. I stole it back for you.” 

He holds out Nate’s iPod, which Ben had completely forgotten about amid the chaos. 

He takes it with shaking fingers, tucking it into his jacket pocket. “Thanks,” he whispers, choking back a sob when Isaac flings himself at Ben and hugs him tightly--then he’s gone, fleeing back into the house, and Ben is alone.

\--

He’s walked six blocks before Ben even realizes where he’s heading--his body knows the way, even if his thoughts are a jumbled mess. 

When he knocks on the door of the Brewsters’ house ten minutes later, shivering and miserable, Caleb takes one look at Ben and swears loudly, then drags him inside and practically frog-marches him into the living room and onto the couch. There’s a lopsided Christmas tree in the corner by the window; Ben focuses on it to keep from crying as Caleb brings two chipped mugs full of what smells like coffee spiked heavily with Baileys, then hands one to Ben before he sits down.

“What the fuck happened?”

Ben’s grip on the mug tightens for a moment until it feels like the mug might shatter in his hands. “I got outed.”

Caleb swears again, but Ben knows it’s not directed at him. He was the first person Ben had told when he’d finally admitted to himself that he was gay; it had been terrifying, sharing that part of himself with his best friend since kindergarten, but Caleb had taken the news in stride and kept the secret from sophomore until senior year, when Ben told Abe and Anna as well. 

Between sips of the spiked coffee, he gets the whole story out--Nate, the note, his brothers snooping through his things, and finally the fight with his father. When he finishes, Caleb is silent for a long moment, his expression grim.

“I knew your dad was a bastard, but that’s just…” he sighs, rubbing at his patchy beard. “You can stay here if you need to--my folks won’t mind.”

“I can’t stay in Setauket.” That much Ben is certain of; he has to get out of town, put as much distance between himself and his family as he can, for his own peace of mind. “Nate offered to let me stay with him if things got bad here. I just need a place to crash tonight and a ride to the ferry tomorrow--I’ll take the train the rest of the way.”

Caleb nods, taking Ben’s empty mug from his hands. “My couch is your couch, man, you know that.”

\--

His phone call to Nate is brief, but it lifts a weight off his shoulders that even a second glass of straight Baileys couldn’t budge.

“Of course you can stay with us. Do you want me to drive down to Bridgeport to get you?”

Ben sighs, pinning the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he digs through his bag for the sweatpants he knows should be in there. “No, I’ll take the train up there. I need some time to think.”

“Whatever you need.” The sorrow in Nate’s voice is clear, even through the tinny speakerphone. “I’m so sorry, Ben. I wouldn’t have texted you if I’d known--”

“Stop it, it’s not your fault,” Ben says firmly, cutting him off. “If it hadn’t been that text, it would have been something else. I should have known I couldn’t keep that kind of secret for very long.”

Nate doesn’t sound convinced. “Still, I should have been more subtle. You told me how bad your parents were.”

“Speaking of, I don’t know if they’re going to cut my phone off or not, so if you don’t hear from me tomorrow don’t panic.” The thought of being cut off like that is nauseating, but he wouldn’t be surprised. If it happens, it happens; there’s nothing he can do about it. “I’ve got my laptop, I’ll email you if something comes up.”

“Okay.” There’s a long pause, almost long enough that Ben wonders if the call got dropped, before Nate speaks up again. “Just be safe, okay? Don’t go back there, don’t contact them, just stay with your friend until the boat leaves.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” Ben thinks about the fight again and can’t help but consider the worst case scenario. If things had gone worse… “I love you, okay? I just...need you to know that.”

Nate’s sharp intake of breath is audible, and his voice shakes a little when he responds “Love you too. Get some rest.”

\--

When Caleb drives him to the ferry the next morning, they both spot Will in the parking lot at the same time, and Caleb’s hands clench around the wheel as he pulls into a parking space.

“Want me to tell him to fuck off?” he asks, and Ben actually considers it for a moment before he shakes his head.

“No. He’s got a right to be here, even if I don’t like it.” Will had been conspicuously absent from the entire disaster with the rest of the family; Ben’s not sure where he was, only that he doesn’t remember seeing Will at any point before or after he left the house for good. What that means now is anyone’s guess.

Caleb’s expression makes it clear he’s not happy, but he doesn’t argue. “Fine, but if he starts anything I’m going to punch him, Army training or not.”

Will doesn’t approach them until after Ben buys his ticket--he looks tired and a little unsure, and he’s holding a paper shopping bag. 

“I’ll be right over here,” Caleb says, giving Will a baleful stare before he walks away, giving them some relative privacy.

The brothers stare at each other for a long, tense moment, then Will lets out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” It’s not at all what Ben was expecting to hear; he stares at Will, shocked.

“I didn’t know John and Sam went through your stuff--if I had, I would have stopped them. And what they did...” Will clenches his jaw, visibly angry for a moment before he struggles to calm himself. “I’m going to kick both their asses.”

“Will--”

“No, don’t try and excuse any of it. What they did was wrong, and what Mom and Dad did was worse.” Will looks out at the bay, clutching the shopping bag tightly in his fist. “Isaac wanted to come and say goodbye, but I think Mom knew where I was going and wouldn’t let him out of the house. But here.” 

He holds out the bag to Ben; it’s surprisingly heavy, and he can’t help but open it. Inside, there are a few wrapped gifts and a handful of things he recognizes as things he’d left behind in his room--small trinkets and other things that he’d completely forgotten about in his haste to get the hell out of the house. 

“The presents are from me and Isaac. We didn’t want you to have nothing to open for Christmas, even if it’s a day late.” Will says, a little awkward. “I tried to figure out what you’d want from your room, but if I missed something just let me know and I’ll try and get it to you before I head back to West Point.”

Before Ben can respond, they’re interrupted by the boarding announcement for the ferry. He glances over at Caleb, then back at Will.

“Thanks. For everything.” He hesitates for a moment, wondering if he should say something else. Then Will steps forward and pulls him into a painfully tight hug, and he can’t say anything at all. He can’t remember the last time he actually hugged Will--before he left for West Point, maybe even longer. He holds on tightly for a moment, then steps back and gives Will a shaky smile.

“Tell Isaac I love him, okay? If he wants to, he can write me at school--I’ll find a way to write back.”

“I can help with that,” Caleb says, joining them again with Ben’s bags in tow. “Just let the pipsqueak know to check with me.”

Will laughs, and he looks a little less exhausted now, some of the tight lines around his eyes having eased. “I’ll let him know. Thanks, Brewster.” He turns to Ben again. “You can write me too, you know. I wanna know how you’re doing at that fancy school of yours. And I want to hear about this boyfriend. Gotta make sure he’s good enough for my little brother.”

“Shut up,” Ben grumbles, but he can’t hide his smile. He takes his bags from Caleb, then “Take care of yourself, Will.”

“You too, Benny.” 

Ben makes a face, but it’s worth it to see Will’s smile before he walks back towards the minivan. He turns to Caleb, who makes a face and holds up a hand to stop Ben from coming towards him.

“No hugs, we’re good.”

“I’ll call you when I get to Nate’s.” Ben shoulders his bags, careful not to drop the one from Will in the shuffle. “Thanks for everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Caleb grins and makes a shoo-ing motion with his hands. “Get on the damn boat already. Your boyfriend’s waiting.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, there's a missing scene between chapters five and six that was posted independently and added to this as a series. It's not necessary to read it to continue with this story, other than to know that Ben has given Virginia his real first name. The rest of it is just smut.

Compared to Christmas, the rest of Ben’s winter break goes surprisingly well. Nate’s mom is a tiny powerhouse of a woman but so kind and welcoming that Ben is a little overwhelmed for the first few days. She puts him up in the guest room (“I know this isn’t going to stop you two, but let me have my little delusions okay?”), makes them pancakes, and generally leaves them alone to do as they please.

And for a week or so, it’s great. He and Nate have all the time in the world to spend together, binge-watching crappy television, playing video games, making out whenever they’re certain they’re alone in the house. Nate even surprises Ben his second night at the house by sneaking into his room and giving him a mediocre-but-enthusiastic blowjob while Ben bites his own fist to keep quiet.

But a little after New Year’s, Ben starts to feel a little bit like he’s overstaying his welcome. There’s no sign of any such feeling from Nate or his mom, but it doesn’t change how uneasy Ben begins to feel, longing for the privacy of his dorm room. After months on his own, it’s hard to adjust to sharing space with other people again.

There’s also the simple but inescapable fact that he hasn’t done a cam show since right before Christmas and his bank balance is starting to dip dangerously low. With his parents out of the picture for any kind of support, Ben also has to cover any extra expenses, which means he really can’t put off going back to ‘work’ much longer.

It takes two phone calls, plus a handful of emails between far too many people before Ben finally gets permission to come back to the dorms a few days early, due to his ‘lack of permanent housing’ as his advisor delicately puts it. 

“Are you sure you have to go back early?” Nate asks, later that night. They’re curled up on Nate’s bed, Ben’s head in Nate’s lap while they watch a movie. Ben is half-asleep, lulled by the way Nate has been gently stroking his hair for the better part of the last fifteen minutes, but the question pulls him out of his doze.

“It’s only a few days early,” he points out, turning his head so he can look up at Nate. “I need some time to meet with the financial aid people to make sure there aren’t going to be any problems with my tuition.” Which is mostly true--he is meeting with someone from financial aid to go over his options, but he’s not really counting on getting anything out of that meeting other than a headache.

“You going to make it up to me somehow?” Nate’s tone is teasing, hardly serious, but it piques Ben’s interest anyway. If he is going to ditch his boyfriend like this, a little apology might go a long way towards soothing some of his guilt. And it's not like he would mind fooling around, especially since Nate’s mom is gone for a few hours. 

Wordless, he turns and kisses the strip of bare skin between Nate’s stomach and his boxers. Nate tenses in surprise, clenching Ben’s hair between his fingers. The sudden flare of pain makes Ben gasp; Nate instantly lets go of Ben’s hair, snatching his hand back like it’s been burned. 

“Shit, I’m sorry--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ben says quickly, pressing another soft kiss against his stomach. He’s pulled his own hair before, just to try it, but it’s different having someone else do it for him. The thought sends a shiver of heat down his spine. “Pull it again."

Nate hesitates, then tugs at a handful of Ben’s hair, a little harder this time, and Ben outright moans at the sharp bolt of _want_ that tears straight through him. He feels Nate’s dick jump beneath his cheek and turns his head towards it, mouthing against the outline through Nate’s boxers until Nate is fully hard and practically whining Ben’s name through clenched teeth.

Ben smirks up at him. “Something you want?”

“Asshole.” Nate rolls his eyes as he lets go of Ben’s hair and grabs at his shirt, tugging him up. Ben goes willingly, straddling Nate’s lap as he leans in and kisses his boyfriend. He gets a nip to his lower lip in response and groans, shamelessly grinding down against Nate until Nate swears and grabs him by the hips to keep him still.

“What do you want?” Ben asks, stripping off his t-shirt in one fluid motion. Nate’s gaze drops to his bare chest, hunger written clear on his face. It makes Ben want to squirm again, still not quite used to having someone look at him with such outright desire. It’s different when he’s camming; he knows exactly what people are doing, but he doesn’t have to _see_ it, so there’s a level of disconnect that helps him relax. Here with Nate, that distance is impossible.

“Can I--” Nate stops himself, turning red, and then presses his face against Ben’s neck and mumbles in a frantic, embarassed rush “CanIfuckyou?”

It’s not like Ben hasn’t thought about it before--given what he does in his free time, he’s certainly not opposed to the idea. He’s never had anything more than his own fingers or a toy to use. But he also knows Nate has never fucked anyone before; they’ve talked in bits and pieces about their embarrassingly limited experiences and jumping right from blowjobs to fucking seems like a bit of a rush no matter how much he might want to do it anyway.

Ben realizes he’s been thinking about the whole thing for a few second too long when Nate starts to pull away from his grasp, mumbling an embarrassed apology. 

“Stop it,” Ben says, tugging Nate back and giving him a long, slow kiss. When they part again, Ben catches Nate’s face in his hands and holds him there so he can’t pull away again. “I’m definitely not saying no. But are you sure?”

Nate nods, wide-eyed and a little awkward since Ben is still holding onto his face. It’s cute, and Ben can’t help but kiss the tip of his nose in response.

“Do you even have condoms?” Ben knows there’s lube in Nate’s bedside drawer, but last time he rooted around in there (the other night, when he’d snuck in to jerk Nate off) he hadn’t seen any. And there’s definitely not any in his bags--his small stash is still back in his dorm room, safely tucked away in his closet.

Nate groans rather dramatically and pulls back from Ben’s hold, falling back onto the bed with a curse. “Fuuuuck. I knew I should have stolen some from the campus clinic. So much for plan A.”

Trying to hold back a laugh, Ben shifts so he can lay down beside Nate on the bed and leans over to press a kiss to his shoulder. “Ask me again when we’re back at school and don’t have to worry about your mom coming home and hearing us.”

Nate shudders. “Very, very wise. Not a conversation I want to have over breakfast tomorrow.” His voice shifts into a terrible falsetto impression of his mom. “‘Good morning Nate, please pass the coffee, and don’t fuck your boyfriend so hard he forgets his own name and starts yelling for god’.”

“Pretty confident, aren’t you?” Smirking, Ben rolls over and straddles Nate’s hips between his thighs, grinding down just enough to make Nate gasp. “I seem to remember someone else screaming ‘Oh god!’ the other night and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.”

“Is that a challenge?” The glint of mischief in his boyfriend’s expression is all the warning Ben gets before Nate lunges. He tries to brace himself, but Nate grapples with him anyway, struggling for a moment before he finally flips their positions around and hovers over Ben with a look of wicked glee.

Ben shamelessly rolls his hips and looks up at Nate with his best attempt at bedroom eyes. “Stop teasing and put your money where your mouth is, Hale. Or should that be the other way--”

Nate cuts him off by leaning down and kissing Ben hard, one hand slipping between their bodies so he can palm Ben’s cock and give it a teasing stroke. Ben has to break the kiss to gasp for air, moaning when Nate’s thumb circles the head of his dick.

“I’ll put my mouth somewhere, Tallmadge, that’s a promise,” he teases, sliding slowly down Ben’s body until his face is between Ben’s thighs. Nate’s grin is positively wicked, full of the kind of promise that makes Ben dizzy. “Bet you twenty bucks you start calling me ‘god’ before I’m done.” 

-

The trip back to Yale is uneventful, and the familiar sight of New Haven out the train window relaxes some of the lingering tension in Ben’s shoulders. It is somewhat eerie to be mostly alone in the dorms with none of the usual sounds of college resident life echoing in the halls, but having the chance to be alone again is also something Ben knows he’s desperately needed since Christmas.

And the empty dorm gives him other benefits. He’s done three public cam shows and a few private ones since coming back and he’s made enough money to cover his books for second semester and a little extra beyond. Easy money. And despite his weeks off, he isn’t having any problems getting back into the swing of performing for other people. 

But it’s not quite the same as it was before Christmas.

Three days of shows and no sign of Virginia at all.

The weight of that absence sits like a rock in Ben’s chest, making it just a little harder to pretend there’s nothing wrong during his shows. He jerks off for tips, does some basic fantasy dirty talk for a private show, but it all just feels off somehow, like he’s not really fully there. 

And then, just as Ben is starting to resign himself to the fact that Virginia is probably never coming back, the messaging system on the cam site sends him an email alert.

[You Have 1 New Message From: Virginia2202]

Ben rolls over from where he’s been reading and fumbles for his laptop. He brings up the cam site, clicking over to his messages as soon as the site loads. Most of the unread messages are garbage, like requests for free shows or skeevy offers to do porn shoots, but Virginia’s message sits right at the top, bold and waiting.

Ben clicks on the link and holds his breath while it loads.

[ _My dear Benjamin-_

_I’m so sorry I haven’t been around for your appearances as of late. This is a busy time of year for me professionally, and I haven’t been very diligent about checking my notifications. Imagine my disappointment when I learned that I missed you two evenings in a row. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for not being there to celebrate your triumphant return._

_I’d like to make it up to you, and perhaps also show my gratitude for your breathtaking Christmas gift. I’ve been told that other models on the site keep a wishlist of sorts for their patrons to buy them gifts. If the idea suits you, perhaps you could create one and share the link with me? If that’s too much, just pretend I never asked. I’m sure I can find another suitable way to show my appreciation._

_Either way, welcome back. You’ve been deeply missed._

_Yours,_

_-V_ ]

That tight ache in Ben’s chest eases as he reads the message, uncurling into a warmth that settles comfortably under his skin. Virginia _missed_ him, enough to take the time to write an actual message to express such a feeling. It’s endearing and old fashioned, with just the right amount of humor, and Ben selfishly lets himself read it a few more times before he considers Virginia's request.

It’s not like he doesn’t know other guys on the site have wishlists. It’s a frequent topic of conversation on the private forums for the models. And Ben had considered doing one at first but just never really gotten around to it. It seems a bit greedy to do it now given the fact that he’s already taking Virginia’s money on a regular basis. Other physical gifts just seemed...unnecessary.

Still, there’s another part of him that thinks about what it would be like to have something Virginia had taken the time and effort to choose, something that Ben wanted enough to ask for even if it was just by putting it on a list. Something physical that he can touch and be reminded that there is at least one more person that finds his existence to be a positive addition to their life.

Ben spends nearly an hour struggling to think of what he’d even want; does he go with things he could use on cam, like a new dildo or some cuffs? Or more practical things not related to camming at all, like a new pair of headphones to replace his taped-together pair with only one working earbud. 

In the end Ben ends up with a bit of both, carefully curating a list that isn’t weighed too heavily in either direction. A handful of new toys for play, a pair of headphones, a new hoodie, a few books he’s been wanting to read. Nothing outlandishly expensive; the last thing he wants is to abuse Virginia's generosity. 

Before he can second-guess himself, Ben hits the reply option on Virginia’s message and sends a response.

[ _Virginia,_

_I missed you too. This hasn’t been the best few weeks for me but I was really glad to see your message. I was wondering where you’d gone!_

_I tried doing a wishlist like you asked, so here it is. (link) Hopefully it isn’t too stupid. I had a hard time thinking of things I wanted to add. And obviously you don’t have to get me anything, you’ve already been so incredibly generous to me._

_Classes start for me in a few days but I’ll be online every night at least for a bit even if I don’t do a show. And you can always send me a message whenever you want. I like hearing from you._

_I hope you had a good holiday. See you soon (I hope),_

_Yours,_

_-Benjamin_ ]


	8. Chapter 8

George waits until the last possible moment to enter his classroom. It’s a habit, born out of years of experience with over-eager freshmen; if he leaves them alone long enough, he can get a pretty accurate glimpse on the first day of what his students will be like during the rest of the year.

The ones who are already in their seats, notebooks or laptops at the ready--they’re the overachievers, most likely to have a mid-semester break down when he grades one of their essays too harshly for their tastes. The ones still laughing and chatting with their neighbors won’t cause too much trouble, average students who will never use his office hours and squeak through his class with a B or a C. The one or two sleeping in the back row are always the wildcards--no one gets into Yale by being a slacker unless their parents have a lot of money, in which case he’ll end up getting a phone call when little Johnny fails his midterms. There’s an odd kind of pleasure in denying any kind of make up work or grade altering to a parent convinced that it's not the student, it’s the professor who is the problem.

The chatter in the room begins to trickle off when he walks in through the door at the front of the lecture hall and sets his briefcase on the desk with a solid thump. He doesn’t look at the room, focusing on his lecture notes and his class roster until the room has descended into complete silence. Only then does he look up and survey his students briefly before speaking.

“I’m Dr. Washington and this is History 183, Civil War and Reconstruction. If that comes as a surprise to you, then you’re probably in the wrong class and can sneak out the back door over there.”

That earns him some mild, surprised laughter from some of the class. Two students do get up and leave, both with the sheepish look of someone who just realized they’re in the wrong classroom. It happens every semester; George has long since stopped paying them any mind other than making sure they don’t disrupt the rest of the class.

“Now that we’re all here, let’s get through the tedious beginning of the semester nonsense. When I call your name, raise your hand so I know you’re here.”

He goes through the roster quickly, noting off the present and absent students with a quick tick of his pen next to their name. It goes rather smoothly for once and he’s already thinking ahead to how to best run through the syllabus in the time allotted when he calls the next name on his list.

“Tallmadge, Benjamin?”

A hand flies up in the third row. George glances up from the list to place a name with the face and his entire body goes cold.

He _knows_ that face. In fact, he knows a lot more than just that face; he also knows some _other_ parts of the young man currently slouched in a seat midway up the hall, wearing a pair of loose jeans and an oversized Yale hoodie. 

In fact, George is quite intimately acquainted with the body beneath that hoodie in a way that he cannot afford to think about right now because getting a hard-on in front of forty-eight students is a terrible way to start off a semester.

What the hell is a _camboy_ doing in his 9am lecture? 

He sees Tallboy--no, _Tallmadg_ e--frown slightly in confusion and that’s enough to snap him out of his daze; George runs through the rest of the names with no hesitation, then puts his list away and clears his throat.

“Right, let’s move on to the syllabus and your assigned reading, then I’ll let you out of here early.”

He looks everywhere but at Tallmadge ( _Benjamin_ , his treacherous brain reminds him, _he told you to call him Benjamin_ ) for the rest of the class, determined to focus on the task of making sure his students are well aware of his expectations for the semester. 

When he finishes the mundane beginning of the semester tasks and lets the class go nearly fifteen minutes early, George finally lets himself glance over at Benjamin again. He’s not looking at George, thank god; he’s packing up his things and talking to another young man ( _Hale, Nathan_ if he remembers his roster correctly _)_. They clearly know each other, well enough that their conversation seems to flow easily as they finish gathering their things. 

It’s only because he’s paying such close attention to Benjamin that he sees Hale lean in and murmur something in Benjamin’s ear that makes the young man flush scarlet. The sly look that Hale gives Benjamin before sauntering off just serves to further confirm what George deeply wishes he didn’t know. 

Disgusted at the jealousy he can feel twisting in his chest, George snaps his briefcase closed and takes one last look at Benjamin before he does what anyone with half a brain would do in his situation: he walks very calmly back to his office, shuts the door, and takes out the bottle of scotch he keeps in his bottom desk drawer. It had been an end-of-semester gift from Lafayette, who had presented it to George with an over-exaggerated amount of seriousness and claimed it was for emergencies only.

Right now absolutely counts as an emergency in George’s mind. He pours a healthy measure into the empty coffee mug on his desk, downs half of it in one swallow, and pours himself a bit more before leaning back in his rickety desk chair and looking up at the yellowing ceiling tiles.

It was a likely bet that the ethics rules around student-teacher relationships did not have a specific provision for a teacher anonymously paying a student to jerk off for him on a nearly-daily basis. Did it technically count as a violation if neither of them knew who the other was? Not exactly a conversation he ever wants to have with anyone, much less the university ethics committee. 

Any deniability he might still have had was long since gone, obliterated the moment he laid eyes on Benjamin in his classroom. And he can’t even do anything about that; George can’t kick him out of class without some kind of legitimate reason to do so. Benjamin doesn’t know who he is; it isn’t fair to punish him for George’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. 

The smart, logical choice would be for George to delete his account on the site and never, ever look at Benjamin’s stream again. To just treat him like any other student and then pray for the semester to end as quickly as possible before he has a chance to embarrass himself. Keep a polite, professional distance and just quietly disappear from Ben’s life as he should have done long ago for both their sakes.

It’s the right thing to do, the only responsible course of action to take in this situation.

The only problem now is sticking to the plan when face-to-face with the literal embodiment of temptation in the front row of his classroom three times a week. 

\--

Ben dresses in a wild panic, grabbing the first clothes he spots on his floor and shoving his feet into a pair of worn-out Converse.

He’s going to be so, so goddamn late for Professor Washington’s class. How had he slept through his alarm and two texts from Nate? Staying up way too late camming, of course--he’s so stupid, he should have logged off early, but he’d been waiting for Virginia to join the room so he could thank him for the gift that had been waiting for him in the mailroom yesterday. It wasn’t even something he’d put on his list, but it was something he actually needed. How Virginia knew that was a mystery, but Ben wasn’t about to question the why or the how. 

But Virginia had never shown and Ben had finally logged off after a fairly routine private show for someone else who’d popped into his room that night--the interaction had been stilted and uncomfortable, and his patron had logged off before Ben even finished.

He doesn’t have time to worry about that right now--he’s supposed to be halfway across campus in two minutes, which means no time for either contacts or a shower. Swiping the new leather messenger bag from it’s spot at the edge of his bed, Ben slings it over his shoulder, grabs his glasses, and shoves them on his face as he barrels down the stairs, out the door, and runs at a dead sprint towards Washington’s classroom.

Winded and sweaty, Ben tries to slink quietly into the back row of Washington’s lecture, giving his head a tiny shake when he sees Nate look back at him. Unfortunately, this also draws Washington’s attention; his already imposing expression turns flinty as he looks straight at Ben. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to--Ben’s cheeks flush in shame as he sinks even further down in his seat.

He barely hears the rest of the lecture, but he notices every time Washington’s gaze flickers up to the corner he’s hiding in. By the end of class, Ben is ready to just be as far away from Washington’s disapproval as he can. Unfortunately, Washington has other ideas.

“Mr. Tallmadge, a word if you please.” It’s a tone that commands obedience, and Ben is halfway down the stairs before he even registers the movement. He turns back to look at Nate, who winces in sympathy before he disappears through the classroom door. Ben finally stops a few feet from Washington, forcing himself to stand upright and take whatever scolding or punishment he’s earned for his lateness.

To his surprise, Washington only looks at him for a moment, glancing up and down before the hardness in his face seems to soften just a touch. His voice, however, is still as stern as before. “Overslept, did we?”

“Yes, sir.” Ben glances down at his clothes, noticing only then that the t-shirt he’d jammed on in a hurry was inside out. He turns red again, even more embarrassed now, but Washington keeps talking as though he’s oblivious to Ben’s misery.

“You can get today’s notes from one of your classmates. I expect this won’t happen again.”

“No, sir.” Ben replies firmly, but Washington has already turned to pack up his things, silently dismissing him. Confused, Ben doesn’t move, trying to figure out if Washington meant to let him go without some sort of punishment or if he was testing Ben somehow. His father had done it sometimes, making Ben wait for what seemed like an endless amount of time before finally doling out whatever punishment he’d decided on for Ben’s crime.

Before he can help it, Ben’s treacherous brain switches tactics; there’s punishment and then there’s _punishment_. What if Washington wants him to ‘make up’ for his lateness? Would he push Ben to his knees, or would he bend him over the metal table next to the lectern? 

_Not now!_ he pleads silently, willing his dick to not further embarrass him today. _This is not helping._

Washington snaps his briefcase shut and looks up at Ben again, frowning. “That’s all, Tallmadge. You can go.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Ben doesn’t hesitate, fleeing Washington’s presence in the most dignified manner that he possibly can.

-

The rest of Ben’s day seems to blur together--he makes it to his next class on time, has lunch with Nate, and then goes back to his room for a few hours to study before he lets himself log in for another cam session. To his surprise, there’s already a private request waiting for him, and from Virginia no less. He accepts it immediately, feeling relieved when the chat loads and he can see Virginia is already online and waiting for him.

“Long time no see,” he teases, settling back in his chair so the camera has a good angle.

_[A prior engagement, unfortunately.]_ Virginia responds quickly. _[I would have much rather been in your company.]_

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Ben teases, grinning. “Actually, what I really wanted was to thank you for the gift you sent. It’s absolutely perfect.”

_[You’re very welcome. I’m glad you liked it.]_

“It’s really nice, and I actually really needed a new bag.” Ben reaches down next to his chair and strokes the soft, buttery leather of the bag’s front flap, smiling faintly. “And it’s just the right size.”

_[I thought it might suit you.]_ Ben watches as the little icon indicates that Virginia is still typing. After a minute, however, all that appears in the chat is _[How was your day?]_

“You really want to know?”

Virginia’s response is swift, leaving no room for doubt. _[I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.]_

“It was okay, I guess? Overslept this morning and nearly missed my first class.” His thoughts flash back to his after class moment with Washington, remembering his ill-timed jump into fantasy land. “I thought my professor was going to tear me a new one when he asked me to stay after, but he just told me not to do it again.”

_[Were you expecting some kind of punishment?]_

Ben shrugs, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. “I don’t know, maybe?”

_[What kind of punishment? I suppose they don’t make you write lines on the chalkboard anymore, or slap your hands with rulers.]_

“Docking points from my grade, or making me write an extra paper.” The half-remembered fantasy image of Professor Washington bending Ben over a desk flashes across his memory again and he pushes it away. His focus should be Virginia, not his ill-timed crush on a professor that he has no chance with. “Or something.”

_[‘Or something’? Did you expect him to spank you?]_ Virginia adds a little winking face at the end of his response and Ben knows he’s just teasing, but his imagination proceeds to colorfully illustrate the idea anyway, adding yet another one to the already embarrassing pile of fantasies he seems to be collecting.

“No,” Ben tries to deny it, but even he can admit it’s a pretty pathetic attempt. He tries a different tactic to distract Virginia, pulling his shirt up and off in a surprisingly graceful move, but Virginia doesn’t seem to be swayed.

_[What were you thinking about, Benjamin?]_ Every time Virginia uses his full name, a little hum of warmth seems to settle in Ben’s chest. Today, caught between an embarrassing fantasy and his favorite client’s obvious interest, it’s downright scorching. _[Did you want to prove just how sorry you were?]_

Ben doesn’t trust his voice not to crack if he answers, so he nods. Virginia seems to find that acceptable.

_[Would you have done anything he asked?]_

“Yes,” Ben whispers, feeling the prickle of shame and desire mingling under his skin. He shouldn’t be turned on by this. He shouldn’t. But right now, he’s not sure if he wants to jerk off or to die of embarrassment.

There’s a long pause, long enough that Ben’s breath catches in his throat, certain that he’s somehow done something wrong before Virginia blessedly starts typing again.

_[Tell me how sorry you are, Benjamin.]_

Oh, _fuck_.

It’s easy--too easy--for Ben to slip back into that moment in the classroom, alone with Washington looking down at him in stern disapproval. But this time, Washington doesn’t dismiss him; this time, Washington’s disapproval morphs into hunger and Ben shivers, caught between desire and fear.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, contrite. In his fantasy, Washington’s expression doesn’t change. “Please, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

_[I don’t believe you.]_ The words on the screen are Virginia’s, but Ben hears them in Washington’s crisp baritone, echoing in the fantasy version of that afternoon.

A stab of panic catches him unaware and Ben’s voice shakes as he whispers another plea. “I promise, I won’t. I’ll be good.”

_[And how would you convince me? On your knees, sucking my cock like the little whore you are?]_

His breath catches at the thought, imaging the way Washington might take him--would he fuck his mouth, make Ben gag on it? Or would he not touch him at all, just let Ben do all the work to prove how good he can be? 

Ben’s hand drifts down towards the waistband of his boxers but the response from Virginia comes swiftly. _[Hands off. You haven’t earned that yet.]_

A frustrated whimper escapes his lips but Ben pulls his hands away obediently. “I can be good,” he repeats, more forceful this time. It’s mostly to reassure himself but he almost swears he can hear the mocking laughter in Virginia's response.

_[You can be good? Then do as I say.]_ He’s already nodding when the first command appears. _[Strip and get on the bed]_

Ben moves so quickly he nearly trips over himself trying to shed his boxers and get from his chair to the bed at the same time. He barely has time to arrange himself on his back before his next instructions arrive.

_[Spread your legs, let me see you.]_

Obediently, Ben bends his knees and spreads his legs, tilting his hips just enough to entirely expose himself to the camera. It’s almost a relief to surrender to Virginia’s whims; Ben doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to plan his next move, doesn't have to worry about anything. All he has to do is what he’s told, without question. He can just be _good_. 

_[Look at you, so desperate for me. You’re perfect.]_ The simple praise muddies Ben’s already hazy thoughts even further. _[Now, show me how good you can be and fuck yourself slowly. Just one finger to start.]_

The lube is right where Ben left it, within easy reach on the bedside table. He slicks up his hand and slowly traces one finger around the rim of his hole, moaning softly. It’s torture to go this slow--he wants to be fucked, wants to ride Washington’s dick, wants Virginia to really be here and hold him down while they both fuck Ben into blissful oblivion. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it aloud until he sees Virginia’s next message. _[Greedy little thing, aren’t you?]_ If he even had the capacity to think beyond the moment, Ben couldn’t deny it. The very idea of being used like that is almost enough to shatter him completely.

When Virginia orders him to add a second finger, Ben sobs in relief, trying to go slow as he fucks himself on two fingers now, crying out in frustration when it’s not enough to quench the wildfire consuming him. 

_[One more, Benjamin. Take one more, show me how badly you want this.]_

Three fingers now and Ben can barely see the screen through his tears as he grinds down on his own hand, ignoring the way his wrist is aching.

He’s so close now, so so close. “Please,” he begs, shuddering from the effort of holding back from chasing the orgasm he hasn’t been given permission to have. “Don’t let me--I want to be good, I want--” 

_[Come.]_ A one word order, given before Ben’s even finished asking, but that’s all he needs to let go; Ben’s whole body shakes as the world narrows almost to total darkness before it explodes into an overwhelming wave of pleasure, washing away any other feeling or conscious thought as it flows over and through him.

Slowly, Ben drifts back to consciousness; he can hear the message noise go off, but it takes him another minute to sit up, struggling for a moment to focus enough that he can read the screen. 

_[Your professor is an idiot.]_

Ben shouldn't laugh, but he does because of course Virginia would be on his side. “I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but I appreciate the support.”

_[We’ll have to agree to disagree then. And you should go to sleep--wouldn’t want to miss another class.]_

Ben starts to argue the point--he’s fine, he’s not tired--but the yawn that cuts into his statement pretty much kills any argument he might have made. “Fine, fine, I’ll sleep. Goodnight Virginia. Sweet dreams.”

_[Sweet dreams, Benjamin.]_


End file.
